


long blue shadows

by ont



Series: mockingbird [22]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Generational Trauma, Kidfic, Mid-life Crisis, Mpreg, Multi, Music Industry shit, Past Drug Addiction, Professional Rivalries/Professional Jealousy, adoption issues, celebrity stress, parenting, the 2044 Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 70,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: Harry deals with a mid-life crisis; Louis and Zayn await their second grandchild; Liam's daughter heads to the Olympics. (sliding doors verse)
Relationships: Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, OC/OC, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson (past)
Series: mockingbird [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/499807
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52





	long blue shadows

MALIBU, AUGUST 14, 2043

The day after her interview with Amir, _Vanity Fair_ senior staff reporter Mariah Waggoner awakens in her Malibu hotel room and shuffles over to her Mac, plugging in her voice recorder and waiting for the files on it to load. Once they do, she mouses over yesterday’s folder and realizes that in total, she has ten hours of audio to transcribe from. This is in addition to an entire notebook that she filled up while they were talking.

“Jesus Christ,” she groans, but she’s been trying to knock a profile out of the park all year, so she gets to work.

*

VANITY FAIR: I know your representation said it was fine, but I wanted to check with you — it’s okay if I record this?

AMIR: No, yeah, go for it.

VANITY FAIR: Thanks for being willing to meet me at home. This is a gorgeous house, by the way.

AMIR: Thanks. It’s my dad’s, obviously. And Harry’s. [pause] They have good taste.

VANITY FAIR: Where are you living, these days? If you don’t mind me asking.

AMIR: Uh, no, I don’t. My husband and I have a place up in Monterey, on the beach.

VANITY FAIR: Gotcha. You like the beach?

AMIR: We do. We’re both beach people… he likes to surf. And our daughter likes the beach.

VANITY FAIR: How old is your daughter?

AMIR: She’ll be three in December.

VANITY FAIR: Is she around today?

AMIR: My dad and Harry and my husband, they took her, uh — [laughs] — they actually took her to, yeah, the beach. Just so we could have some privacy.

VANITY FAIR: Have you been spending a lot of time with your dad and Harry, lately?

AMIR: Yeah. [pause] With family in general, but here too, yeah.

VANITY FAIR: And you were arrested near here in February, right?

AMIR: Yeah. We were staying here with my dad at the time.

VANITY FAIR: Can you tell me a little more about that?

AMIR: I don’t know how much there is to say… I relapsed, I was out looking for coke in downtown L.A., and I ended up buying some off an undercover cop.

VANITY FAIR: And you can talk about this now, right? The legal aspect has wrapped up?

AMIR: Yeah, the charges got dismissed for good last month. He basically, uh… I think they ended up deciding it was entrapment because the cop, like, told me he wouldn’t sell to me unless I bought a certain amount.

VANITY FAIR: I was going to say, drugs are mostly decriminalized in California, even possession when it’s below a certain amount…

AMIR: Right. I got pretty unlucky. [laughs]

VANITY FAIR: So you had been to rehab before this, right?

AMIR: Yeah. I went to rehab the previous year.

VANITY FAIR: And your sobriety was successful?

AMIR: For a while.

VANITY FAIR: So what exactly do you think happened? Why do you think you relapsed?

AMIR: Uh… [long pause]

VANITY FAIR: Do you need a moment?

AMIR: I might go get some water.

VANITY FAIR: Take all the time you need.

[silence]

AMIR: [sound of glass being set down] February is a tough time of year for me. That’s not me making excuses, it’s just how it is. I had really bad postpartum stuff after I had my daughter, and it was February a couple years ago when I got sent to a psychiatric hospital. So it just brings up bad shit for me. I wanted to escape my brain.

VANITY FAIR: Do you think you were trying to escape, when you joined Jya on tour in 2042?

AMIR: Yes. Absolutely.

VANITY FAIR: That tour was kind of a disaster for you, wasn’t it?

AMIR: It was an absolute disaster. I still feel really guilty over all the chaos I caused on a professional level, and the people whose time I wasted or whose goodwill I took advantage of. And a personal level, I feel really guilty about the pain and stress I caused my friends and family. I can’t really atone for that, it just is what it is… But I do want to say that the music industry takes advantage of vulnerable people, and it took advantage of me. I wasn’t in a place, mentally or emotionally, where people should have been preying on me and trying to figure out how to make money off of me, but they did that anyway.

VANITY FAIR: Want to name names?

AMIR: Not really. I think people can connect the dots themselves. I have new management and representation, I have new people overseeing my career and handling me, but I do have the same record deal as I did before. So take from that what you will.

VANITY FAIR: You’re being managed by your dad and your stepdad, and you’re getting a second chance that many artists wouldn’t. With that in mind, do you think the accusations of nepotism have any weight?

AMIR: Of course they do. I wouldn’t be where I am without nepotism. Many people in the entertainment industry wouldn’t, so I don’t know why I get singled out so much for criticism, but I get it. I just also don’t think anyone who levels that accusation at me can legitimately say that I have no talent, or that I don’t work hard. And I’m not in it for the money or the fame. All I want to do is make music that I can feel good about, and collaborate with artists I admire. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

VANITY FAIR: No, of course not. So tell me more about the tour. Do you regret accepting the offer to open for Jya?

AMIR: No, I just wish that offer had come at a different time in my life. She’s an artist who I really enjoyed working with, and would love to work with again. Of course I regret the time I spent away from my husband and daughter, but I accept now that I had a role to play in that, too. I also think everything happens for a reason. I think life is a journey that gives you a bunch of object lessons, and you can’t waste time hating it for that. You just take your lessons as they come, and move forward.

VANITY FAIR: You just mentioned the time you spent away from your daughter. What do you have to say to all the people who think you’re a bad parent?

AMIR: I think they don’t know me.

VANITY FAIR: Do you think there are any good reasons for people to think that?

AMIR: [long pause] You can be an addict and a good parent. They’re not mutually exclusive. It’s just hard.

VANITY FAIR: Do you think of yourself as an addict?

AMIR: I think of myself as a recovering substance abuser.

VANITY FAIR: If you could tell everyone in the world something about yourself, what would you tell them?

AMIR: [long pause]

VANITY FAIR: Do you need a minute?

AMIR: No. Um, I think I’d tell them that they don’t know me. And that’s fine, but I wish they wouldn’t pretend like they do.

VANITY FAIR: Okay.

AMIR: I’m not a deadbeat. I don’t — when I struggle, it’s not ‘cos I don’t love my family, or ‘cos I’m prioritizing drugs over my family, or whatever people think. I love my daughter more than anything, and the shit they saw last year was only part of the story.

VANITY FAIR: What was the rest of the story?

AMIR: I won’t get into all of it, ‘cos some stuff is private at the end of the day. But I was in a dark place, and my family brought me out of it.

VANITY FAIR: Were you in a dark place again in February?

AMIR: Yeah. [pause] I was.

VANITY FAIR: Do you want to stop for a second and get a tissue?

AMIR: Yes, please.

[long pause]

AMIR: It was a lot better this time around, ‘cos I had more coping skills, and me and my husband knew how to approach the situation as a team. Plus, I knew I had to be tough for my daughter. That’s what gets me through everything, is her.

VANITY FAIR: Does it bother you that people think you abandoned your daughter to go on tour, or that they were saying, after you had relapsed, that you were an unfit parent?

AMIR: Of course it does. Like I said, they don’t know me, they don’t know the situation.

VANITY FAIR: Do you think you’re a fit parent?

AMIR: [pause] No one in my life doubts that I am, so I don’t know why people on the Internet think they have the authority to.

VANITY FAIR: But do _you_ think you are?

AMIR: At the end of the day, I am my daughter’s parent. I show up for her. I love her. I do my best. I don’t know what a ‘fit parent’ is. My own dad was struggling with stuff when I was a kid, but I would never have not wanted him around. I never would have considered him unfit.

VANITY FAIR: Let’s pivot for a little bit to talking about your music. Your sophomore album is coming out later this year, right?

AMIR: [sniffling] Yeah.

VANITY FAIR: Tell me more about that.

*

After she’s taken the entire day to transcribe the interview and compile all of her notes, Mariah can’t settle on a lead for the piece. She goes back and forth for hours, trying all the traditional profile stand-bys — describing the setting, describing what the person was doing while you interviewed them, giving a fresh spin on a familiar anecdote about them, or stating what they would ‘like to do’. _Amir Tomlinson-Malik would like to set the record straight._

It isn’t good enough. It isn’t National Magazine Award-worthy enough, anyway.

Her eyes are hot and bleary by the time she returns to her tape and hits play on the recording. It picks up where she left off — Amir singing the hook from a song he’s working on, while playing the piano.

There it is, there’s the lead. Mariah tabs back to her document and starts writing.

_Implausibly, Amir Tomlinson-Malik seems built to sing the blues._

_His singing voice whips between a sultry baritone and a raw, vulnerable countertenor, and his life as the troubled son of wealthy celebrities has seen the kind of grief that the genre was built on._

_He has perfect pitch, matching note-for-note a song I play from my phone that he swears he’s never heard before. But when he plays improvisationally, his fingers seem to search for the blues form. This isn’t too surprising — he has a degree in Jazz Studies from Juilliard, and says he grew up listening to Amy Winehouse in the car with his father, Louis Tomlinson._

_“I’ve always related to jazz,” Amir says. “I’m a jazz nerd… I think a lot of musicians are. But it’s more than that. I like how much control it gives you.”_

_“More than other music?” I ask him._

_Amir doesn’t answer; he starts playing the piano again, and something about the melody makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. This goes on for at least three minutes. It’s tension and tension, with no release. Finally, he releases it, and I feel my shoulders lower._

_He shoots a smile at me. “It’s powerful,” he says. “I always think of this video of Harry Connick Jr. playing to an audience that’s all clapping on the wrong beat. He slips an extra beat in the measure, and suddenly, they’re clapping on the right beat again. It was so slick, and cool, and unless you understand music, you’d never know what he did.”_

_“And you like that kind of power?” I ask. “The subtle kind?”_

_Amir nods. “Look, I don’t want to complain about my childhood, because I know no one would feel sorry for me. Poor little rich boy. But I had no control over anything, because kids never do, and I had people talking trash about me and my family constantly,” he says. “I can never get out of the public eye, I can never be slick or mysterious or fly under the radar. My only power in that aspect of my life is in radical honesty. So yeah, it’s nice to sit down behind a piano and be able to control people with just a flick of my finger… in a way where they don’t even know it happened.”_

MONTEREY, FEBRUARY 1, 2044

Amir isn’t expecting a yes; he’s mostly just taking a test to rule out the yes, so he can go to his doctor and tell him that he’s been having weird fatigue and nausea and twinges the past week or so.

He would really like to be pregnant, though. That would be a wonderful surprise. Ever since the thought occurred to him earlier that day, he’s been thinking longingly about it, hoping that it might be true, but he doesn’t really believe that it _is_.

In fact, he’s so sure he’s not pregnant that after he pees on the stick, he leaves it on top of the toilet tank and takes ages brushing his teeth and carefully washing his face, then applying tretinoin cream and his SPF moisturizer with gentle swoops of his fingers. He wants to stave off the disappointment for as long as possible.

It’s been way more than a minute by the time he picks the test back up and glances down at it.

 _Pregnant_ , it says.

Amir’s heart skips a beat before hitting the ground running, and a smile starts spreading over his face.

*

Evan is ready for bed, lying there just giving Twitter one last scroll, but Amir is taking forever in the bathroom. He keeps calling, “Did you fall in?” and Amir keeps calling back, “One minute!”

Finally Amir swans out of the bathroom in a black t-shirt and boxers, beaming, his face shining. He looks lovely. It took a while, but the sullen, drugsick, miserable version of Amir has loosed his grip on the real Amir, letting color pour back into his face and the light come back into his eyes. And today, much more than usual, joy is streaming out of his pores and lighting him up golden.

They had watched the Grammys from home last night with mild interest, never expecting in a million years that Amir would win Best New Artist. He was up against stiff competition, such stiff competition that they didn’t bother going to the ceremony. “It would just be awkward,” Amir had told Evan after they found out he had been nominated. “And I just don’t want to stress myself chasing that shit, the money and the awards. I need it to just be about the music.”

Which made sense to Evan. So they stayed home and watched from their couch with April sitting between them, pointing in excitement whenever Amir’s face came up onscreen and exclaiming, “Daddy!”

And then he won. Amir leapt off the couch and screamed, then clapped a tattooed hand over his mouth, then called Louis. Evan took a 5-second video of this explosion of joy so Amir could put it on social media to stave off any accusations of him being spoiled and ungrateful, since he wasn’t there to accept it in person.

“I’m a Grammy-winning musician,” he’s been saying to Evan all day today, in a wispy, hushed tone, like he still barely believes it. “It’s just Best New Artist, it’s whatever, fucking Maroon 5 won Best New Artist... but for the rest of my life, I’m gonna have _Grammy-winning musician_ on my Wikipedia page. No one can take that away from me, ever.”

Evan, who couldn’t relate to whatever emotion he was feeling, had just responded by kissing him on the forehead each time.

And right now Amir is glowing even more, looking like he’s about to burst with happiness, which is a balm for Evan’s soul. He hasn’t seen Amir this visibly happy in so long, not since they were really young.

“Hi,” Amir says, his voice husky, skulking over to the bed and crawling into it. His usual smell of neroli is partially masked by the minty alcohol stink of mouthwash.

Evan reaches up to stroke Amir’s dark hair as he drops his head into Evan’s chest and snuggles up to him. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Amir sings. “Just wondering something…”

“What’re you wondering?”

“Just wondering how you’d feel about having another baby.”

“Oh,” Evan says in surprise, continuing to run his fingers through Amir’s hair. “I mean, I’m open to talking about it…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just worry, like… what if things get really bad again, like last time?”

Amir nods. “I think about that too,” he says.

“You’ve been doing so well lately… we both have. I’m scared to throw that out of whack, especially now that April’s old enough to remember stuff.”

“I get that,” Amir murmurs.

“You know I love you, though, I’d love to have another baby. I just want to be sure it’s right for us, right now.”

“What if I said I think it really is?”

“Amir, you’re only a year clean,” Evan says. “And I know we worked through that, you know I’m not mad or anything, I get why you relapsed —“

“February’s been a tough time of year for me, these past few years,” Amir says pointedly. “For good reason.”

Evan strokes his hair some more. “I know it is. And I’ve been really glad to see you so happy this year, it’s a huge relief. It’s just I feel like your sobriety’s still kind of fragile.”

“A year is a long time.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Amir murmurs, kissing his jaw.

“Well, what if you have another baby, and things _do_ get bad again?” Evan says.

“I’d be medicated this time,” Amir says. “And seeing a therapist every week. And we’d be ready, you and I both know what to look out for.”

This calms Evan, though his head is still full of what-ifs.

“You don’t want April to be an only child, do you?” Amir murmurs. “I thought we wanted two… we agreed on that, before.”

“Well, yeah, _before…_ ”

“What, you changed your mind?”

“No,” Evan says. “I do want another kid. I’m just scared.”

“I know. Me too. But I’m scared of a lot of things… a lot of bad shit’s gone down. I just don’t want to stop living my life. I’m really happy right now, I don’t want to be paralyzed, holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I know.” Evan gnaws at his lower lip, then kisses Amir on the head. “No, I’m just being neurotic, I think. I’m open to talking about it. I always wanted two kids.”

“Me too. I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“Yeah?”

Amir plays with Evan’s chest hair. “Yeah. ‘Cos I’m actually already pregnant.”

White noise fills Evan’s head for a moment. “Sorry?” he says, stunned.

Amir reaches down and pulls the hem of his t-shirt up, slipping out something that’s tucked into the waistband of his boxers. It’s a pregnancy test. He puts it in Evan’s hand.

Evan stares at the little screen that says Pregnant 3+.

“What does three plus mean?” he finds the words to say.

“Three plus weeks.”

“You’re three plus weeks?”

“Apparently.”

Evan starts laughing, and Amir starts laughing too, then kisses him. Evan kisses him back, stroking his hair some more.

“What the fuck,” he says, still laughing. “Babe…”

Amir grins at him and runs his hand through his hair, which immediately flops back over his forehead as if he hadn’t touched it. “Slick, right?”

“What would you have done if I said, like, no, absolutely not, I don’t want another baby?”

Amir shrugs. “Start crying and throw myself down the stairs? I dunno.”

Evan chokes on a laugh. “Amir...” He runs his fingers up and down Amir’s forearm, mussing the dark hair there. “I can’t believe this. How’d this even happen?”

“Same way it happened the last two times. You knew I went off my birth control, ‘cos my therapist thinks it fucks with my mood.”

“I guess I just underestimated how easy it is for you to get pregnant. Everyone always told me it was harder to get guys pregnant than girls.”

“I got my dad’s crazy fertility, I guess.” Amir lifts his head and gazes at him, looking nervous. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Evan says, laughing some more, and he leans in to kiss him. Their teeth click. “Yes, I’m very happy.”

“I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he adds. “It just happened.”

“Amir, it’s good news. It’s okay.”

“You’re happy for real?” Amir says, nuzzling his neck. “You promise?”

“I swear I am. Yes. This is great.”

Even to himself, Evan sounds a little too emphatic, like he’s not being truthful. But he really is incredibly happy about this. He’s just also scared shitless.

“When did you start thinking you might be pregnant?” he says.

“It was in the back of my head, but I only started seriously considering it earlier today,” Amir says. “I told you I’ve been feeling weird this week, and then this morning, I was already so tired by, like, noon.”

“Right, I remember you were saying.”

“But I didn’t want to take the test ‘til bedtime ‘cos I knew I would have been sad if it was a no, and I’d want to go to bed right away, if I was sad. So that’s what I did.”

Evan strokes his cheek. “You really wanted to be pregnant?”

“I really did, man. I’m really happy about this.” Amir reaches up and cups his palm to Evan’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I want more Evan babies. I’ll take all the Evan babies.”

Evan smiles at him, his heart fluttering.

“You know, April keeps asking me for a little sister,” Amir adds.

“I know, she asks me about that too.”

Amir drapes himself over Evan, all lean and warm and loose-limbed like a ferret. “I’ll go to the doctor this week. You can come too.”

Evan goes back to petting his hair. “Okay.”

“I promise I won’t go crazy this time,” Amir murmurs.

“It’s okay, Meer… That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but still. Everything’s gonna be fine, I swear.” Amir nuzzles at his ear, then grows quiet and pensive.

Wanting him to go back to being happy, Evan says, “You wanna call Louis? It’s still pretty early, and he’ll be really excited to hear...”

He lifts his head, nodding. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

LONDON, FEBRUARY 2, 2044

Mia knows Harry and Zayn are having a massive blowout at their London place for Harry’s fiftieth, so she doesn’t head over there until like 3 a.m., until she’s sure they’re about to go to bed for the night.

Her self-driving Uber rolls her up to the ivy-covered gate of their London house, and she stretches her wrist out of the window into the cool air. A beam sweeps over her arm, registering her watch, and then a panel on the pillar beeps before the gate begins to creak open.

The driveway ends in a circle that’s littered with the cars of people who must be either still there drinking, or planning to sleep over. There’s a fountain in the center; Mia passes under the shadow of it as she gets out of the car and walks to their door, where she presses her palm to the panel beside it.

“ _Welcome, Mia Tomlinson-Malik,”_ the panel says in a cool female voice, and the door opens.

Mia enters the house, which is gorgeous in a Tory way, and sets her bag on the foyer table. From somewhere in the house, she can hear music and laughter. She heads for the kitchen with a bottle of wine in her hand, and there she finds Harry, sitting alone at the massive, stately island and drinking from a bottle of Topo Chico.

“Hey,” she says brightly. “Happy birthday, old man.”

Harry sets the bottle down with a clink. “Thanks,” he says roughly, beckoning her in for a hug. “Were we expecting you?”

“Aya has business in London this upcoming week, so I thought we’d get here a day early and surprise you guys,” Mia says, going over to hug him. “So no, you weren’t.”

“Sort of late to the party.”

“Yeah, I don’t love your friends, so that was intentional.”

Harry laughs. “Like father like daughter. Zayn’s been pulling his disappearing act all night.” He pulls back and points to the bottle of wine, which has a gold gift bow on it. “Is that for me?”

“It is,” Mia says, handing it to him.

Harry takes the bottle and studies the label, scanning for the vintage. When he finds it, he does a visible double take.

“Aya’s been teaching me about wine,” Mia explains.

“I’m impressed,” Harry says, and she can tell he means it.

Mia takes a seat beside him. “So,” she says. “How are you feeling about Amir’s Grammy?”

Harry flicks his eyes over at her, smiling. “I’m happy for him,” he says, and he’s a talented actor, but she can tell there’s more under the surface than that. “How does Amir feel about Amir’s Grammy?” He spins the bottle of wine on the counter. “He didn’t accept it in person, and he didn’t even mention it when he texted me to say happy birthday.”

“He honestly didn’t think he would win, so he’s kind of over the moon about it,” Mia says. “But he also said he doesn’t feel like it’s a real Grammy, ‘cos it’s just Best New Artist. He said the only real categories are, y’know, best record, best album, best artist.”

Harry snorts.

“Plus, he just doesn’t go to those things anymore,” Mia says. “You know how he is, now. Head down, focused on his family and his music.”

“I do.”

“Especially after, y’know…” Mia shrugs to obliquely refer to Amir’s relapse, which happened just a little over a year ago today.

“I know.”

Zayn comes into the kitchen, then, wearing a party hat askew on his head. “Oi!” he says to Mia when he sees her. “Thought I was losin’ it when I saw your name pop up on my watch. What’re you doing here? Anyone with you?”

“Nah, just me,” Mia says. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not a disappointment at all, just wondering.” Zayn pulls the fridge open and peers inside. “You and Aya in town, then?”

“Yeah, we’re here for her work. She wanted to come, but she had to be in bed by ten, she has to get up super early tomorrow.”

“Well, lovely to have you.”

“Apparently your son doesn’t think his Grammy is a ‘real’ Grammy,” Harry says drily to Zayn. His eyes are glittering.

Zayn laughs loudly at this. “Alright then.”

“I, personally, would love to have won a ‘fake’ Grammy at twenty-six years old, when I wasn’t considered a favorite to win, two years after I had fired one of the best managers in the business,” Harry says.

Zayn closes the fridge and comes over to them, opening a bottle of Evian with a tattooed hand. He takes a swig and then puts his hand on Mia’s head, stroking her hair. “Yeah, Harry’s been a bit tight about this,” he stage whispers to Mia. “That on top of turning fifty.”

“I’m fine with turning fifty,” Harry snaps, unconvincingly.

“ _I_ have a Grammy,” Zayn says to no one in particular.

“If Best New Artist isn’t a real Grammy, then _you_ certainly don’t have a real Grammy,” Harry says, pointing at him. Mia didn’t hear it before, but now she realizes that he’s pretty drunk. “You won Best Spoken Word Album for an audiobook of a memoir that was mostly fucking ghostwritten!”

“Yeah, but I have a Grammy and you don’t,” Zayn replies, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Harry lets out a loud scoff and picks up a corkscrew off the island, plunging it into the wine bottle.

“Oh, are you opening that up right now?” Mia says, surprised. She’s not pissed or anything, it’s just the wine cost her $800, so she was hoping Harry would at least pair it with a meal.

“Sorry,” Harry says to her. “It’s a lovely vintage, I thought we could have a glass together while you’re here. Since your dad doesn’t drink, and the girls aren’t quite old enough…”

“No, it’s fine,” Mia says. “Go ahead. Happy birthday. I mean, I guess it’s not technically your birthday anymore, but…”

Harry flashes her a smile. “It’s my birthday all week, love. Are you staying?”

“I can, if you don’t have too many other people over.”

Zayn snorts. “You’re my daughter. Rather have you sleep over than Nick Grimshaw.”

Mia’s watch starts buzzing, and she glances down. Amir is calling.

“One sec,” she says, taking the call in the other room as Zayn and Harry continue arguing good-naturedly about how many people in their house constitutes ‘too many people’, and what Zayn’s problem with Nick is (nothing, he claims, he just likes to take the piss out of Harry).

Mia steps into the stately foyer, which is ghostly at this time of night. Laughter and music is still coming from downstairs somewhere. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Amir says. “What are you doing up? Aren’t you in England?”

“I am, I’m just up late. I’m over at Pops and Harry’s. What’s up, why’d you call if you didn’t think I’d be up?”

“Well, I was hoping you would be, but I wasn’t sure. I just got off the phone with Dad, so I wanted to call you too, but, uh…” Amir pauses for a moment, then says with breathless excitement: “I’m pregnant.”

Mia’s head starts buzzing with surprise. “No shit!”

“No shit.”

“Aw, Amir, that’s great. What, were you guys trying?”

“No!” Evan yells in the background, making Amir laugh.

“No,” Amir agrees. “Just one of those things.”

“Meer, that’s awesome, I’m so happy.”

“Thanks, thanks, we are too.”

“What did Dad have to say?” she says, going over to one of the windows that stretch alongside the front door and peering out, looking for the moon. She spots it after a moment: a crescent sliver, high in the sky.

“The usual,” Amir says. “He’s excited, so’s Liam. They’re hoping it’s a boy. But I, uh… I was kind of hoping you could be the one to tell Baba and Harry?”

Mia laughs. “Ohh, so _that’s_ why you called.”

“No! I wanted to tell you.”

“Right, but you didn’t wait ‘til the morning ‘cos you knew I was coming over here tonight for Harry’s birthday, and you wanted to make sure I’d be in place to be the one to tell them.”

“It’s just you know how Pops is,” Amir says. “You remember how he was when I got pregnant with April. He legit thought I’d thrown my career away.”

“I think he realizes by now that he was wrong about that, among other things.”

“Still, you know how he is. You don’t get it, you’re with Aya, who he _adooores_ ,” Amir says, sounding annoyed. “He still doesn’t like Evan that much, after everything. You heard him when we all went out on the boat before Christmas. He talked to him like he was a yachtie. Meanwhile he and Aya have like, inside jokes and shit.”

Mia knows he’s right, but she doesn’t feel comfortable having the upper hand when it comes to something she can’t control, so she changes the subject. “What about your career, though? You’re mid-way through an album, are you gonna postpone it?”

“No, absolutely not, why would I? Look, if my debut taught me anything, it’s that I don’t necessarily need to jump through hoops just ‘cos it’s been institutionalized that I should jump through hoops. I didn’t tour my debut, I barely did promo, and I just won a Grammy.”

“I think you partially won a Grammy because you had a great comeback story that everyone loved,” Mia says, thinking of how Harry had gone to great lengths to fine-tune the PR of Amir’s return to the music industry post-rehab, and how, for his troubles, he’s been rewarded with his stepson receiving the type of critical acclaim he had always lusted after.

Amir will never outsell Harry, nor any of their parents, it’s true — he’ll never even come close. Harry has the Midas touch, he could sneeze and make a million dollars off it. But he’s the victim of his own popularity. He’s so widely loved, so thoroughly canonized by the entertainment industry, that he could never be the kind of indie darling that Amir is becoming: beloved by Pitchfork, beloved by underground musicians who see him as a double agent for their cause, an anti-establishment voice born into a royal family of music.

So Harry has one Golden Globe, many, many Teen Choice Awards, Billboard awards, Brits, iHeartRadio Music Awards, AMAs, VMAs, et cetera, but he still has no Grammy. And he has no Oscar. This is distressing enough for him that he apparently once chewed through a mouthguard while having a nightmare about a La La Land/Moonlight-style situation in which he was falsely awarded an Oscar before having it revoked.

Meanwhile, how could the Recording Academy resist handing Amir his first golden megaphone at twenty-six? He went from being a rising star, to having a stunning flame-out crash at the beginning of his career, to rising back out of the wreck of it like a phoenix.

Amir suffered through months of his ex-friends and ex-acquaintances giving tell-all interviews about him, lying about him, turning their anger at him into wild false stories about his misbehavior that the worst rags in L.A. ate right up. So when he had finally had enough, Amir — guided by the odd-couple management team of Louis and Harry — mounted a campaign to correct the record on himself. He gave a handful of interviews to major magazines which (despite being orchestrated down to the finest detail) allowed him to pour his heart out very plaintively and genuinely on an international stage. He posed for photoshoots with little April, who is as adorable and photogenic as her father, and who looks at him with such adoration on her face that you can’t help believing he must be a good dad.

The entire world took Amir back, like he was a troubled but beloved boyfriend they’d been longing to reunite with. Music journalists turned on a dime, climbing over each other to be the first one to plant their flags in Amir’s redemption arc. Then his debut album finally dropped, and everyone loved it, and no one felt shy about loving it.

“Well, who doesn’t love a comeback story?” Amir says.

“No one,” Mia admits.

“So you’ll tell Dad?”

She sighs. “Fine, I’ll tell Dad, but you owe me.”

“I’ll name the baby after you-u,” Amir sings.

“What if it’s a boy?”

“Then, um... I won’t.”

Mia chokes out a laugh. “Alright, let me go. Congratulations. Tell Evan I said congrats, too.”

“He can hear you,” Amir says.

“Thanks Mia,” Evan yells into the phone.

“I’ll give April a kiss from you,” Amir adds.

“Please do.” Mia misses April. “Bye.”

“Bye-e.”

She goes back into the kitchen, where Zayn is eating baby carrots out of a bag that’s lying on the island while Harry fetches wine glasses from the cabinet.

“Hey,” Mia says, suddenly nervous.

“Who was on the phone?” Zayn says, offering her the carrots.

“Amir.”

Harry raises his eyebrows as he takes a seat back down at the island, the bulbs of the wine glasses cradled between his fingers.

“Everything alright?” Zayn says.

“Yeah. Yeah. He wanted me to let you guys know that he, uh… he actually just found out that he’s pregnant.”

Harry lets out a choked-sounding bark of a laugh, then starts to pour himself a very large glass of wine. “Cheers. Mazel tov.”

Zayn, meanwhile, just looks aggrieved. “Is he, then?”

“Yes,” Mia says.

“What, has he done this on purpose?”

“Uh, no, apparently not, but he is married with a three-year-old, Dad. It’s not scandalous news.”

“Hmm,” Zayn says, and eats another carrot, crunching it loudly in the relative silence of the kitchen.

“Incredible,” Harry says. “To win Grammys without even trying, get pregnant without even trying... Astounding.”

“You should drink some water,” Zayn says to him gently.

“All I do is _try_ ,” Harry tells him.

Zayn shoves his bottle of Evian toward Harry. “Try drinking some water.”

“But this is happy news, right?” Mia says. “I mean, you guys love April.”

Harry swallows a mouthful of water and says roughly, “Of course! We adore April, and your brother.”

“Well, then.” Mia shrugs.

“Turning fifty is hard,” Zayn explains to her. “You’ll find out someday.”

“ _Inshallah_ ,” Mia says, and Zayn snorts. “Harry, how d’you think I feel? My little brother has a Grammy and he’s married with two kids. My little sister is going to the Olympics this summer. It blows, I feel like a dork.”

“Well, come over here and drink some pity wine with me,” Harry says, lifting the bottle. Mia happily goes over and sits next to him, and he pours her a glass.

Zayn taps the marble counter, his rings making a clicking sound as he does. “Right, I’m off to bed. Don’t let your friends burn the house down.”

“Why would I let my friends burn our house down?” Harry says, sounding incredulous.

Zayn comes around the island and gives him a kiss on the head. “Just an exit line, Haz, you’re so fuckin’ literal sometimes. Come to bed soon, alright? It’s late.”

“I will. Check on the girls for me?”

“Aye.”

They wave goodnight to him, and Mia takes a sip of her wine.

“Mims,” Harry says, “you’re only twenty-seven —“

“Twenty-eight. I just turned twenty-eight.”

“Sorry. Either way, you have all the time in the world.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.”

“I know. It never does.”

Mia drinks more of the wine. It really is a good wine.

“D’you think you’ll get married soon?” Harry says, swishing the remains around in his wine glass.

Mia shrugs. “Aya has a ten-year plan. Engaged at twenty-nine, married at thirty, kids at thirty-two.”

“Mmm, I had a similar plan,” Harry says. “Didn’t work quite like I’d hoped.”

“Didn’t it?”

Harry shrugs. “I always wanted a house full of kids.”

“You could have adopted more,” Mia says.

“We could have, but… it’s a tough process, y’know. Loads of false hope and disappointment, and I think after I miscarried as many times as I did, I just couldn’t face that possibility.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He smiles. “I got very lucky twice, with each of my girls. That was all the universe saw fit to give me, and I’m grateful for it.”

“And you had me and Amir half the week,” Mia says. “You sort of did have a house full of kids.”

“Yeah,” Harry says wistfully, “but you belonged to Louis.”

“Well, yeah, but we still love you.”

“I know, but it’s different. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you around, and watching you grow up, but…” Harry hesitates. “I dunno. I knew, each time you came to us, that you’d have to leave again in a few days. So.”

“Sorry,” she says again.

“Oh, love, don’t apologize. Christ. I know that back-and-forth was so much harder on you kids, and Louis and Zayn. I’m just saying, I tried not to think of either of you as ‘mine’ in any sense.”

“Does it actually upset you that Amir’s pregnant again?” Mia says.

Harry shakes his head hard. “I just envy him his ease,” he says, smiling. “I’m sure you can relate. I remember watching him play the piano and sing, when he was just a kid, and thinking, Christ, none of this ever came so easily to me.”

“It’s why I quit piano,” Mia says. “He was so much better than me right off the bat. It was like a slap in the face. And I wasn’t even bad!”

“No, you weren’t. Zayn’s always wished you hadn’t quit, but apparently there was no talking you out of it.”

Mia shrugs.

“Toni’s talented with the guitar,” Harry says. “And not a bad songwriter, even for her age. It just feels a bit ironic that my musical child isn’t even biologically mine.”

“Biology isn’t everything.”

“No, of course not.” Harry’s quiet. “Did I tell you she wants to do an ancestry service? We haven’t said yes or no yet... we’re scared of what she might find out.”

“She should know, though,” Mia says. “At least for medical reasons.”

“I know. I know.” He finishes his wine and reaches out for the bottle, but Mia stops his hand.

“Finish it tomorrow at dinner,” she says. “Put one of your air sucking things in it.”

Harry laughs. “You’re cutting me off? Alright.” He sets his glass down. “It’s horrible, miscarrying. I hope you never go through it. I hope Amir doesn’t either.”

Mia leans over and knocks on the wooden legs of the barstool. “It’s not that common, is it? Things usually go well, right?”

“No, it’s very common, ‘specially for men,” Harry says, and hiccups. “Ask your dad.”

Mia squints at him in confusion, and he claps a hand over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry slurs. “I forgot you didn’t know. It’s Amir who knows. Shit. I’m drunk.”

“Know _what?_ ”

“Fuck. Louis should really be the one to tell you…”

“Tell me what?” Mia says, flabbergasted to hear that there’s anything of significance that Louis has told Harry and not her.

Harry digs his thumb into his right temple as if staving off a headache. “He’s gonna be so angry with me… it’s, erm, nothing serious. Just that he and Zayn had miscarried a baby once.”

Mia goggles at him. “They _what_? When?”

“When they were separated. It’s not a big deal, I don’t think,” Harry says. “By which I mean your dad wasn’t gutted about it, or anything, ‘cos he didn’t want to have the baby to begin with, ‘cos, y’know… they were in the process of splitting up, so.”

“Jesus,” Mia says, blown away by this revelation. “My poor dad. Christ.”

“If you could not tell him I told you, that would be fabulous.”

“Well, and what, I’m to just sit on this?”

Harry laughs. “You sounded very English just then.”

“Harry! This isn’t funny.”

“No, I dunno — I just can’t imagine it would ever come up between you.”

“But why’d he have a miscarriage?” Mia says, still grappling with the idea of a third Tomlinson-Malik who never was, who quietly slipped back into the void some twenty-odd years ago. “Do you know?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t. I think it was just one of those things. It can happen to anyone... not just us poor, mangled, infertility-stricken creatures.”

“No one thinks you’re a _creature_ ,” Mia says impatiently. “So then, what, you think it could happen to Amir?”

“I properly hope it doesn’t. But, y’know… a history of drug use on the level he was at does take its toll on your body. Plus, he had some difficulties with April… she was early, born deaf, all that. I think that puts him in the high-risk category.”

“That would really fuck with his head,” Mia says. “He’s doing well right now, but it’s fragile. I don’t want him getting hit with a curveball.”

“I don’t either,” Harry says. “Look, I don’t mean to make you worry unnecessarily. He’ll have access to the best doctors, he’s a healthy young guy… it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, I’ll just add this to my list of things to worry about,” Mia says. “I’ve been getting very into my anxiety, now that my career as a professional athlete is over. I find new things to worry about every day.”

Harry lets out a laugh that turns into a groan. “Oh no.”

Mia’s quiet for a moment before the question on the tip of her tongue slips out. “Do you know why my dad would have told Amir about his miscarriage, and not me?”

“I don’t,” Harry says apologetically. “I was spending a lot of time with the two of them last year, while we were working on Amir’s PR blitz, and Louis off-handedly mentioned it in front of him, so I sort of just took that to mean it wasn’t much of a secret. But Amir’s been pregnant before, though, so...”

“So, what, I have to get pregnant to unlock family secrets, now?”

“Just that one, I think.”

Mia pours herself another glass of wine.

THE 16TH ARRONDISSEMENT OF PARIS, AUGUST 3, 2044

Out of all of them, Sunday is somehow the least excited about the fact that she’s competing in the Olympics.

“I’m the reserve rider,” she keeps telling them, in that stern way of hers. “I’m only here to ride dressage. I won’t even get to jump unless one of our team members gets DQed, which isn’t going to happen.”

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, they all swan around Olympic Village like minor royalty, collecting bags of free swag. Patrick and Max are having the time of their lives, acting like they’re at Disneyland, Liam and Louis are bursting with pride, and Mia is just happy to be along for the ride.

Ceci and John are in town, too, although no one but Sunday has seen them. She said they told her they prefer to avoid the chaos of the Olympic hullabaloo, but Mia’s sure it’s because Ceci doesn’t want to run into Louis and Liam.

Plus, Ceci seems like the kind of person who would rather lounge around a five-star Parisian hotel than spend time with Sunday while she walks her horse through the muddy tracks between barns that have been cloven by hoofprints, listening to her ramble neurotically about everything she needs to remember to do while the distant din of generators and shouting and whinnying drowns her out.

Sunday has been paralyzed with nerves for days, which Mia has up until now been fine with, because it’s understandable. But August 4 is the day of the opening ceremony, so she spends all of the day before trying to pump her up.

By 6 p.m., they’ve spent nine hours with Sunday while she prepares, following her from building to building, watching her ride and stretch and ride some more, listening to her coaches and teammates and trainers drone on and on.

“Sunday,” Mia calls, while hanging pathetically off the grill of her horse’s stall like it’s jail bars. “Can you take the rest of the day off and relax?”

Sunday, who’s kneeling in the soft bedding of the stall so she can palpate Ulysses’ legs with her fingers, doesn’t look up.

“Sunday, you’re gonna be in the Olympics opening ceremony tomorrow. You’re gonna be on TV with four billion people watching. You get to hoist a flag.”

“I don’t hoist a flag,” Sunday murmurs, not looking up from what she’s doing. “I just walk with the team in the parade.”

“Well, whatever.”

“Dad,” Sunday calls. “I swear to God I feel a little bit of heat in his right fore. Can you call Julio for me?”

“Love, Julio already looked at the leg,” Liam calls back from where he’s sitting behind Mia in the barn aisle, cuddled up with Louis in a folding camping loveseat. (Louis is asleep and has been for half an hour). “He said it’s fine and you’re imagining things. You need to get dinner.”

“Yeah, can we please get dinner?” Patrick says. He and Max are sitting on the ground to Mia’s left; Max is engrossed in texting Caroline, and Patrick is playing games on a handheld console. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“We ate at two, love,” Liam says, laughing.

“Well, I feel like I haven’t eaten all day.”

Mia hears Louis say “Hi Julio” from behind her, and turns around. Julio is standing there, smiling his usual easygoing smile, wiping what smells like neatsfoot oil off of his hands with a rag.

“Hello hello,” he says. Max and Patrick both wave at him, and Liam and Mia chorus a hi. “Sunday?”

Sunday’s head pops up from behind her horse. “Oh!” she says, looking pleasantly surprised. “Hi.”

“I heard my name from down the aisle,” Julio says in his liquid-thick accent. “What did I tell you earlier? There is no heat in that leg.”

“But I swear it feels off from this morning.”

“Because you have worked him all day. You’re feeling his lactic acid buildup.”

“You think he’s tying up?”

“No,” he says patiently, “I think he’s having a standard inflammatory response to work — something you would normally not even notice, if you weren’t so worried.”

Sunday sighs. “You sure?”

“This horse is as sound as steel,” Julio says. “Go have dinner with your family.”

“Yes, please,” Patrick exclaims. “For the love of God.”

A guy walking a massive stallion comes down the aisle past them, apologizing for the intrusion; Patrick shrinks back from the passing horse like it’s going to eat him.

“Patrick is a little afraid of horses,” Mia explains to Julio, who laughs.

“Most gentle creatures on Earth,” he says. His white teeth flash when he laughs, and his biceps are constantly flexing, making the massive dragon tattoo on his shoulder twitch. Mia can see why Sunday likes him.

“No,” Patrick says. “Wrong. They’re huge and unpredictable, and they have giant feet with iron shoes.”

“Ah, _detalles sin importancia_ ,” Julio says cheerfully. He excuses himself to Mia and squeezes past her, sliding the stall door open and heading in. Ulysses recognizes him and whickers softly.

Mia watches as he heads over to the horse and lays his hands on its side, starting to talk to Sunday in an undertone. He says something that she nods and murmurs “I know” in response to.

“What were we thinking for dinner, then?” Liam says, and Mia turns back around. “Room service?”

“Let’s go to a restaurant,” Mia says. “We’re in Paris for the Olympics, let’s celebrate. We’ll get a private room somewhere and eat a bunch of cheese.”

“Sounds good to me,” Liam says. Louis and the twins make noises of agreement. “Sunday?”

“Sure,” Sunday calls from behind the horse, sounding distracted.

“Julio, come to dinner with us,” Mia says.

Julio is now bent beside Ulysses, feeling the leg that Sunday is worried about, but he gives her a thumbs up. “I’m lactose intolerant,” he calls back.

“Okay, well, no cheese for you. You can eat some snails.”

“I’ve never had snails,” Patrick says, sounding like he’s pondering the possibility.

Max gags in response.

*

The fancy Parisian dinner ends up causing a disastrous amount of wine intake for everyone but Sunday and Julio, who are abstaining. The restaurant is only a few blocks from their hotel, so they walk back — Mia, Liam, Louis and the twins singing drunkenly as they walk down the sidewalk, while Sunday and Julio lag behind and talk, and their bodyman tails them nervously in his car.

“This is so great,” Liam says, after he’s put himself to bed in their lavish hotel room and is just waiting for Louis to finish brushing his teeth. “This is perfect. My baby is in the Olympics. I’m in Paris. I have all my favorite people.”

Louis leans back from the sink and smiles at him with a mouth full of toothpaste, then leans forward and spits.

Liam waits until he comes back and crawls into the bed before throwing his arms around him and slurring, “I could die tonight and I’d be happy.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to die,” Louis says, kissing him on the cheek and cuddling up against him.

Liam holds him, stroking his hair. “You can’t stop me… I wanna die in your arms.”

“You can die in me arms when we’re both a hundred. I’ll go right after.”

“Okay, fine.”

“I just texted Amir,” Louis murmurs. “He says he feels fine. No labor yet.”

“Alright, good.”

“I’m worried I’m gonna miss the baby bein’ born.”

“It’s okay… you can see him after, it won’t make a massive difference.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I just worry about him.”

“I know you do.”

They snuggle up together more tightly, and Liam closes his eyes. His head is buzzing pleasantly, and the room is spinning, but just a little. He feels warm all over.

This nice moment is interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Noo,” Liam groans.

“It might be the boys,” Louis says. “Who is it?” he calls.

“It’s Cecilia,” Ceci calls through the door.

Louis makes a face and claps the lights on, sitting up. “The fuck?” he whispers. “What does she want?”

“What’s up?” Liam calls.

“Can we talk?” she calls back. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Liam groans silently and tosses the sheets off himself, kissing Louis on the head. “Go to sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll be back.”

“Alright,” Louis whispers back, sounding unhappy about it. “You can’t just tell her to fuck off?”

“Depends what she has to say.”

“Fine.” Louis rolls over into the center of the bed, taking up as much space as he can. “You know I can’t fall asleep without you.”

“I know, baby,” Liam whispers as he retrieves his trousers from the floor and pulls them on, then his socks and shoes. He’s still pretty drunk; he leans on the wall for balance as he does this. “I won’t be long.”

Louis gives him the finger.

“Love you too,” Liam says, before heading down the little hallway and opening the hotel room door.

He hasn’t seen Ceci in person in a while, but Sunday had lunch with her and John when they got into town, and she told Liam that Ceci was seemingly back to normal — as if her brush with death and months of laborious physical and speech therapy had never taken place. Sunday was right. Even her hair is back to its previous luxurious length.

“Hi,” Ceci says.

“Hi,” Liam says. “What’s up?”

“I just have a proposition for you,” Ceci says. “John and I both. Do you want to come downstairs and get a cup of coffee with us?”

“Uh, I mean, I was trying to go to bed, so probably not coffee,” Liam says. “I’ll get some water, or something.”

Ceci squints at him. “Are you drunk?”

“A little, we were celebrating,” Liam says, feeling defensive even though he doesn’t need to. “How’d you even know where I was?”

“Sunday told me what room you were in. We’re all staying in the same hotel.”

“Are we, then?” Liam says, genuinely surprised. Sunday hadn’t told him that. Then again, she’s extremely distracted, and she doesn’t like discussing Ceci with him to begin with.

“Yes,” Ceci says, and beckons him down the hallway toward the elevators.

They get on in silence. Liam’s head is still spinning. Now that they’re in close quarters, he can smell Ceci’s crisp perfume. It smells like whatever she wore when they were married, but slightly different.

“So, how have you been?” Ceci says.

“Great,” Liam says. “Excited about all this. You?”

“I am, too. I never expected Sunday would get this far… it’s very impressive of her.”

“It is,” Liam says, smiling with pride. “How are you doing otherwise, though? How’s the old brain?”

Ceci twiddles one of her diamond earrings on its post. “Fine. I still have headaches and fatigue, but that’s all. It could be much worse.”

“It could be. You got lucky.”

“I did.” The elevator reaches the ground floor, and they step out. Ceci swishes out ahead of him in her tasteful wrap dress, leading the way through the lobby; Liam follows along like a drunk dog. “So how is Louis?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Good,” Liam says. He doesn’t like it when she asks about Louis; there’s always an arch incredulity to her tone, like she still can’t believe after all these years that Louis would be the one for him. “About to be a granddad, again.”

“Right… how’s his son doing?”

“Loads better,” Liam says shortly.

“That’s good,” Ceci says. “I only know what I saw in the news, but I’m sure all of that was hard for you two.”

“It is what it is,” Liam replies, resisting the urge to scream ‘ _WE’RE NOT TRASH’_ in the middle of this random hotel hallway. “These things happen.”

“Mhm,” Ceci says.

They enter a small dining area with seating and lush vegetation everywhere, plus a cafe area where one can fix oneself coffee or tea. John is already there, seated at a table, reading a fiberoptic newspaper. Liam goes to the fridge that’s standing beside the coffee dispensers and swipes his room key, then grabs himself a mineral water.

“Hi John,” he says, heading over to the table, where Ceci has already taken a seat and is stirring a cup of coffee.

“Hi,” John says, setting down his newspaper. He both sounds and looks tired.

“How’s it going?”

“Good,” John says. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “I’ve been busy. You know how the entertainment business is.”

“I do,” Liam says. “So, what’s this about, guys? It’s a bit late in the evening for a friendly chat.”

John and Ceci exchange a glance, and then Ceci glances behind Liam, and her brow furrows.

Liam turns to see what she’s looking at. It’s Patrick, wearing slippers, a t-shirt and pajama pants, walking into the cafe. He doesn’t seem to notice them at first, and when he does, he stops mid-stride and looks confused.

“Dad?” he says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Liam says, trying to sound chill and relaxed. “I’m just having an, er, water… and catching up with Ceci and John, here.”

Patrick continues toward the cafe area, fetching himself a paper cup from a stack of them, then glances at his watch. “At ten o’clock at night… you’re having a ‘water’ with your ex-wife?”

His mere presence is making Liam anxious; Patrick is like a superball of chaotic energy, who sees through the artifice of all situations and is not afraid to comment loudly on said artifice.

“Yes,” Liam says tightly, hoping that Patrick will pick up on his discomfort and use it as a reason to skedaddle, not a reason to embed himself in this interaction.

“Very normal,” Patrick says, pouring himself an orange Coke from the soda fountain machine. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s in bed,” Liam says. “You could also be in bed.”

“I could,” Patrick agrees.

“Coke has caffeine in it,” Liam points out.

“Well, I’m jet lagged and drunk.”

“I know, I feel your pain, but caffeine isn’t going to help.”

“I just mean I’m gonna be up either way,” Patrick says.

Liam lets this go, not wanting to get into an argument with him. John begins cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

“I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” Ceci says, flicking her gaze up and down over Patrick.

Patrick dispenses some ice into his soda, then comes over to them with the cup in his hand. “Yeah, uh, no,” he says, extending his free hand to her. “Hi. I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” Ceci says, shaking his hand.

Liam suddenly worries that it’s weird that his sons have never been actually introduced to his daughter’s mother. Is that his fault?

Ceci never once wanted to meet them, though. She used to find it downright offensive when Louis would answer the door for her when he was pregnant, or, later on, if he was cradling a fussy baby in his arms. She made her feelings on this so clear that Liam and Louis decided to avoid having the boys cross paths with her at all, to make things easier for Sunday. After a while, that strategy became their standard operating procedure, and the older Sunday got, the less Ceci was in her life, anyway.

She’s always seemed to have taken Max and Patrick’s existence as an affront to her personally — probably because Louis got pregnant with them right around the time she decided that she wanted Liam back.

Liam glances at John, wondering if he even knows that Ceci called him and left him that drunken voicemail about nineteen years ago. Probably not. He probably wouldn’t even want to know. He and Ceci both seem content in their strange, mannerly marriage.

Liam can remember what being with Ceci was like, and he does understand why John likes it. Ceci is gorgeous, and talented, and very capable. She has the well-bred ability to handle life in a way that makes it go smoothly. Living with her was like sailing in a boat on a perfectly calm day.

But Liam didn’t even realize until they split up how much he’d been holding his breath, how much he was trying to be someone he could never be. It wasn’t until he got back together with Louis that he truly felt like himself again. Louis saved him.

Thinking about this makes him feel especially warm toward Patrick, who reminds him so much of a young Louis. Liam smiles in a maudlin way at his son, who, in response, looks at him like he’s tripping balls.

“Okay,” Patrick says, seeming ill at ease for once. “I’m gonna go to bed, then.” He turns to Ceci. “Nice to finally meet you, I guess. Enjoy your very normal talk with my father.”

Ceci smiles at him without engaging her eyes at all. Liam grabs Patrick as he walks by and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him in for a quick hug and tousling his hair, then lets him go. He already got mushy at dinner and wept while telling the kids how proud of all of them he is, so probably best to reel it in a little. “G’night,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Night, Dads,” Patrick calls after him.

Ceci waits until he’s out of earshot, then clears her throat. “As I was saying,” she says, sipping her coffee. “Well, obviously, you’re aware that my father died last year.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Liam says. He remembers; he sent her a card, and everything. Sunday went to the funeral, just to keep up appearances, since she’d never had a real relationship with her grandfather. She ducked out early, once all the WASPs had gotten loaded and wouldn’t notice her missing.

“And he left control of his estate to my mother,” Ceci says, “who’s now quite ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Ceci flaps her hand dismissively. She’s never been close with her parents. “So about a month ago, she gave Dick and I power of attorney, and told us that she would turn our shares of the estate over to us by the end of the year, so we could work out any issues before she died… making it the whole process that much easier, legally.”

Liam is so sleepy and tipsy that he’s barely following this conversation. “Right,” he agrees.

“It’s a lot of money,” Ceci says, eyeing him. “My share of the estate — it isn’t liquid, but it’s about nine hundred million dollars in total assets.”

Liam tries not to look stunned. “Okay,” he says.

“And I’d like to give some of that to Sunday, while I’m still around to see her appreciate it. It would be mostly hers when I die, anyway. And, you know…” Ceci inhales thinly. “You took care of her for so long, financially and otherwise. I kind of feel like I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Liam says, clearing his throat.

“Well, I owe _her_ , regardless.”

“How much do you want to give her?”

“She’s twenty-seven, now… I think she could handle fifty million,” Ceci says, her voice airy and casual, like she’s talking about giving Sunday a bicycle for her sixth birthday.

Liam stares at her. “Fifty million? That’s absurd, Sunday doesn’t want that much money. She’d have no idea what to do with it.”

What he really wants to say is, ‘We don’t need your fucking money, I have my own money, and our daughter has never wanted for anything in her life, no thanks to you.’ But he doesn’t.

“She can invest it until she does, then,” Ceci says, sipping her coffee.

“You actually want to give her fifty million dollars, just like that?”

“Liam,” John interrupts, “Ceci doesn’t like arguing. It gives her headaches, ever since the accident.”

“I’m not arguing with her,” Liam says. “I’m just confused. Are you trying to buy her off? ‘Cos she doesn’t want that.”

“I’m not trying to buy her off!” Ceci exclaims, with her perfect nose wrinkling in offense. “I’m giving her what she’s owed!”

“Did your dad even mention her in his will?” Liam says.

“No,” Ceci says, her eyes flashing. “He didn’t. But that doesn’t matter, because he’s dead, and his money will be my money in a matter of months. Look, I don’t need your permission or your sign-off for this. I just thought it would be considerate to run it by you.”

“And I appreciate that, I just don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this.”

“You don’t have to react,” Ceci says.

“Then why am I here?” Liam splutters.

“To be told,” Ceci says. “And now you’ve been told.”

Liam glances between her and John, who is expressionless. “Why are you doing this, seriously?”

“Liam, come on,” Ceci says. “After all, you did continually try to shake me down for money when she was younger —”

“ _Shake you down_?”

“— so I don’t understand your opposition now. I’m pretty sure it’s just you being stubborn as usual, and resenting me no matter what I do. This is an olive branch to Sunday, and she can take it or leave it. As far as I’m concerned, this really has nothing to do with you anyway. I was only trying to do you a courtesy.”

“You know,” Liam says, getting up and pushing his chair in, his heart fluttering from angry adrenaline, “for all your, like, etiquette training, you’re quite shit at courtesy, Cecilia.”

“Thank you,” Ceci says drily. “Because you and your husband are so polite and classy, of course.”

Liam knows it’s only because he’s drunk, but this jab makes him round on her in anger. “Louis has more class in one finger than you two have got in your whole bodies,” he snaps. “And he raised your fuckin’ daughter for you, for the record. Fifty million dollars won’t make her forget that.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Ceci says, staring him down. “You are still _so_ neurotic about class and money, Liam. You’re fifty years old, isn’t that getting exhausting?”

“Your money isn’t the thing I find exhausting about you,” Liam says. “Goodnight, you lot. Do whatever you want — you’re right, it’s not my business. Just know that your daughter can’t be bought off.”

John has no response to this; he just sits there in stony silence like he has rigor mortis, while Ceci rolls her eyes. Liam walks away, then, already regretting the entire interaction. He can’t believe that this is a woman he loved, once, a woman he proposed to, a woman he married. He can’t believe that five years ago when it looked like she might die, that he wept over her and rushed to her bedside.

Liam stews all the way back up to his room, groaning with frustration when his drunk fingers keep losing the grip on his hotel key card as he tries to fish it out of his pocket. Finally he remembers that he can just swipe his watch against the door, and he does so, stumbling inside and letting out an aggrieved sigh.

“Wot?” Louis calls.

Liam kicks his shoes back off and pulls his pants down as he comes back to bed. Louis flicks the bedside lamp on before he gets there, squinting at him in the dark, rubbing at his eye with a tattooed hand.

“Can I fuck you?” Liam says, sort of abruptly.

Louis laughs. “ _What_?”

“I just really want to forget about the conversation I just had, I wanna feel you, I wanna be inside you and think about only you and nothing else. I wanna feel happy and good like I did earlier. Is that okay? It’s fine if it’s not.”

Louis appears to consider this for a moment, then shrugs and nods. “Alright,” he says, with a smile in his husky voice. He rolls over onto his stomach and kicks the sheets away, tugging his boxers down off his arse. “Fuck away. Use me as your little sex toy.”

“You know that’s not what I’m doing,” Liam exclaims, coming over and kneeling on the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of his back.

“Yes, you are,” Louis sighs dramatically. “You’re gonna hump me, come in me like I’m a tissue, and then roll over and fall asleep.”

“I’m gonna make passionate love to you, and jerk you off, and then cuddle you to sleep, is what I’m gonna do.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, sounding sort of put out at the idea of not being used like a sex toy. “So how bad did Ceci fuck with your head, then?”

Liam grabs the lube that they had used just last night (being in Paris makes them horny) and spreads it over his hands, shimmying his boxers down off his arse and lubing up his dick before starting to finger Louis open. “She wants to give Sunday fifty million dollars.”

“Sorry?” Louis says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah.”

“For what reason?”

“What d’you think? To buy her off, to make up for being a shit mum.”

“Does she really think that’ll work? On Sunday, the least materialistic person?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

Louis starts to say something, then moans instead as Liam starts working his fingers into him. “Mmm… we haven’t done doggy in a while.”

“I know. I don’t like doggy.”

“But _I_ like doggy.”

“I like to look at you,” Liam says.

“And I like to have me face shoved into the bed,” Louis counters. “It’s been twenty years of tender lovemaking, can I get me face shoved in a bed once in a while? Christ.”

“As you wish,” Liam says, and leans forward to wrap his hand around the back of Louis’ neck like he’s trying to murder him. Louis lets out a pleased laugh.

MALIBU, AUGUST 3, 2044

Amir is being attended to by a small fleet of doctors, who have all been arguing with each other over his care. His ob-gyn thinks he should rest as much as humanly possible, so as to avoid the baby being a preemie, while his psychiatrist thinks he needs to get at least thirty minutes of vigorous exercise per day to stave off depression. The one thing they all agree on is that he should get at least an hour of sunshine per day for Vitamin D reasons, and spend plenty of time outside in the sea air to improve his circulation, so for the sake of facilitating this, Evan, April and Amir have moved into Harry and Zayn’s guesthouse.

This has worked out pretty well so far, because April gets to spend time with her aunts and grandpas, and Evan can take a well-timed leave of absence from work while he recovers from a nasty bite to his hand from a mountain lion, and Amir gets to spend the late days of his pregnancy around family, after Louis, Liam, and the rest of his siblings flew off to France to see Sunday ride in the Olympics.

Plus, Amir has been working on music a lot, and Harry and Zayn’s home studio is unbeatable. It’s a better studio than most of the actual studios he’s recorded in, and has more comfortable seating, too.

So all in all, it’s not a bad set-up, even though everyone else is a little tense. Harry seems to be having some kind of mid-life crisis, and Evan is disillusioned about his career and the state of the world in general, and Toni is embroiled in arguments with Harry and Zayn about whether or not she should use a DNA service to try to find her birth family, and Marlena wants to drop out of school to pursue modeling full-time, and Zayn is anxious about all of this. For once, Amir is one of the more carefree people in his immediate environment.

Each morning he gets up, takes a Valproate, a Diclegis, and ten different vitamins, then slathers himself and April in sunscreen before going down to the beach with her. He watches her run around and play while he reads a book, or listens to music, or just lies there on a beach chair, watching the waves crash on the beach, feeling the baby roll and kick inside him, contented. For the first time in his life, the constant roar of noise in his head has started to quiet down.

It’s not easy to maintain, of course. Once a week he goes to a therapist in L.A. who was recommended to him by the Monterey therapist he was seeing, and Harry, who gets biweekly B12 shots in his ass, has put Amir on this regimen as well. So every Tuesday and Friday, a guy comes to the house and gives both Harry and Amir a shot of B12 in their ass cheeks. On top of this, he’s peeing in a cup every week for his addiction case manager, and seeing his ob-gyn once a week so she can make sure he hasn’t gone into labor prematurely.

Amir feels like a member of the royal family, or a racecar: unable to function without a team of attendants. But for once, this doesn’t feel like a failing, it just feels like a fact. So what if he can’t raw-dog life the way some people can? Those people don’t have a Grammy. Fuck ‘em.

Zayn has purchased an equestrian-centric cable channel so that they can watch breathless pre-Olympics coverage of the Land Rover U.S. Eventing Team, which was sweet of him. Every evening, the seven of them gather around the TV and start yelling in excitement every time they see Sunday standing in the background of a wide shot. Once, they catch a glimpse of the backs of Louis and Liam’s heads, and they all yell “HEYYYY!” like Italians at a football match.

“This is so exciting for no good reason,” Zayn says afterward. “I don’t know shit about horses, like, and I think I’ve said ten words to Sunday in her entire life.”

“It’s ‘cos it’s the _Olympics_ ,” Marlena says, with a ‘duh’ tone.

“Yeah, it’s a historical event, it dates back to Ancient Greece,” Toni adds.

“Oh, it does, does it?” Zayn says, putting Toni into a gentle headlock and making her laugh and wriggle in protest. “Tell me more, ‘cos I’m quite stupid.”

On Wednesday, Amir is woken around 8 a.m. by his heartburn and goes into the master bathroom of the guesthouse to fetch the bottle of Tums he left in there last night. He then heads back over to their bed and sits down beside Evan, swallowing back the chalky artificial fruit taste and making a face. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Evan mumbles into his pillow.

Amir takes his uninjured left hand and pulls it to himself, placing it on the curve of his stomach. “Baby’s kicking.”

“Is it?”

They still don’t know the sex. They didn’t find out with April, either; Amir wanted to be surprised. When he visited Zayn’s sisters over the summer, they all told him very confidently that he’s having a boy, but did not cite any scientific reasoning for this, so he remains skeptical.

Amir lays his hands over Evan’s. “Yeah.”

“I feel it now.”

“Good.”

Evan rubs his thumb against Amir. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Amir says.

“No cramps or anything?”

“No cramps.”

“No weird pains?”

“I’m a baby about that shit,” Amir says. “You would know, if I was having weird pains. I would have already had a press conference about it.”

Evan laughs. “So, where we at?” he says, sitting up in bed and stretching, with the stretch tailing off into a yawn. “Is it thirty-seven weeks yet?”

“I’m thirty-seven weeks in… uh… three days, I think?”

Evan cheers quietly, making Amir smile. “Almost there.”

“Almost there,” Amir agrees. “How’s your hand?”

“Feels okay,” Evan says. “It’s just weird, my pinky’s still kind of numb.”

Amir strokes his thumb over the back of Evan’s hand. The baby stirs under their fingers, and Evan pats his stomach and tells it, “Good morning.”

“Do you feel like we socialize April enough?” Amir frets.

Evan looks at him like he isn’t understanding the question. “Yeah, she’s around people all the time.”

“But with kids her own age, I mean.”

“Well, she doesn’t get a lot of that, but it’s not our fault. It’s not like we’re going to take her to daycare so she can get kidnapped and held for ransom.”

“Don’t say things like that to me,” Amir chides him. “I’m sensitive right now.”

“Sorry. But you know.” Evan pats him again. “She can hang out with this thing.”

“‘This thing.’ Yeah, I guess.”

“Who did you hang out with, when you were three?”

“Mia, and the neighborhood kids.”

Evan shrugs. “Well, we don’t really have a neighborhood.”

“We don’t,” Amir says. “We’re vagabonds.”

“I mean, we have a house, we’re just never there.”

“I wish we knew nice, young, cool parents,” Amir says. “I finally understand what my parents were talking about when I was a kid and they complained the other parents judged them for being young and cool and having tattoos. I swear everyone still looks at me and just sees a wild child drug addict… even my own aunts act weird about leaving me with their kids.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Evan says kindly. “After I got arrested, everyone I know saw me as a fuck-up for years. Some people still do. People are just dumb like that, they can’t accept new information.”

“I never thought you were a fuck-up,” Amir says.

(Once they were over Amir’s arrest enough to be able to start laughing about it, Mia pointed out to them that both of April’s parents have been charged with cocaine possession, then offered to order her a custom onesie to that effect. They declined the offer.

At Amir’s arraignment, he felt numb the entire time, worn to the bone by the realization that his dark days in 2042 were apparently not rock bottom for him — that he could sink even lower, and had. But Evan sat in the courtroom behind him the entire time, and hugged him out in the hallway after it was over. They didn’t say anything, because Evan was still too furious at him to talk about it, but Amir never doubted his love. And he got to go home to April, after. So it almost didn’t matter that his mugshot was on the cover of every tabloid that day.)

Evan rubs his thumb against him again. Amir smooths his hands over the baby and glances down at himself.

“I don’t look as skinny as last time, right?” he says.

“No,” Evan says. “I mean, you’re always skinny, but last time you didn’t even look pregnant for most of it.”

Amir poses for him. “Do I look sufficiently pregnant now?”

“I mean, when you sit like that, it kind of looks like you have something stuffed under your shirt and you’re just fucking with me.”

“Noo! Come on, I want to look pregnant.”

“You definitely look very pregnant.” Evan puts his fingers up. “Scouts’ honor.”

“You weren’t a Boy Scout.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve known you since you were seven.”

“Maybe I was a Boy Scout when I was six, and I had an early retirement.” Amir giggles, and Evan starts tickling him. “I think it’s good we’re here with your dad, he knows how to feed you better than I do.”

“Well, he knows how to cook, and you don’t,” Amir counters.

“Is that not what I said?”

Amir laughs and lunges to shift his awkward center of gravity so he can get up. “Let’s go wake up April, I miss her.”

Evan slides off the bed and joins him, kissing him.

“Stop it,” Amir says, ducking away from him. “I hate morning breath, you know this.”

Evan breathes directly on his face, and he squeals and socks him in the arm, twisting away.

“Good luck running away,” Evan teases. “You move at like one mile an hour these days.”

“When did you get so mean?” Amir calls over his shoulder as he heads into the hallway toward the guesthouse’s second bedroom, which they’ve turned into April’s room. “Is that your Stewart genes finally kicking in?”

“Yep,” Evan calls after him. “I’m gonna start trophy hunting soon. We’re gonna have a wall full of elephant heads.”

“Yeah, ‘cos that’s so in character for you.”

“I can’t fight destiny.”

“You’re just lucky your mom’s side of the family has good hair,” Amir says, heading into April’s room and seeing her fast asleep in her little half-bed, half-crib. “If you went bald, I’d have to divorce you. We could still be together, we just couldn’t be seen in public together anymore. I’m way too hot to have a bald husband.”

“Thanks,” Evan says, coming in behind him as he goes over and sits on the edge of April’s bed, gently shaking her shoulder. “Much appreciated.”

“April,” Amir whispers. “Good morning. Hi. Good morning.”

April stirs and yawns, stretching in her little pajamas. Amir waits for her to open her eyes, then signs _good morning_. She signs it back. She doesn’t wear her implant’s external processor to sleep, but he talks to her even when she has it off, both out of habit and because she finds the vibrations of their voices soothing. Evan goes over to fetch the processor out of the drawer it lives in at night.

 _How you_? Amir signs.

April brings her hand to her face, then stops for a moment as if she’s considering how to say what she wants to say. _Sleepy,_ she signs back.

Amir leans in and kisses her on the forehead, making her giggle. Evan joins him, kneeling beside April’s bed and stroking her hair, signing _good morning._ April sits up in bed and signs _Baby?_

“Baby’s right here,” Amir says, pointing at himself and signing _here_. “No baby yet.” _You will know,_ he signs. _No surprise. Hospital go we._

Evan hooks her implant back up and powers it on. A soft blue glow starts to emit from underneath April’s blonde hair on the right side of her head, then fades.

“Can you hear me?” Amir says.

April nods eagerly. Sometimes she lies to them about that, though, because she thinks it’s funny, so Evan ducks behind her where she can’t read his lips and says, “You sure?”

“Yes!” she says, giggling.

“You want to go up to the big house for breakfast?” Amir says, signing.

April nods, then without warning, gets up and bolts from her bed into the hallway before Amir can even blink. She’s a future track star, that kid.

“Help me up,” Amir says to Evan, who gets to his feet with a groan and extends his uninjured hand to Amir.

*

Zayn is on his second cup of coffee by the time Amir and Evan show up to breakfast, waltzing into the somewhat tense atmosphere of the dining room like the pair of little princes they are. They’re contrasting with each other like always: dark-haired Amir is in a massive black t-shirt and joggers, black tattoos standing out all over his arms, and sun-bleached Evan is wearing a faded white shirt that reads _Los Angeles Yacht Club 2036 Opening Day Regatta._

“Hello hello,” Amir says, teetering over to an empty chair and collapsing into it. His balance isn’t great normally, and is even worse when he’s very pregnant.

“Hi love,” Zayn says. “Mornin’. How are you?”

Amir gives him a thumbs up and pulls the tray of buttered toast away from Marlena and toward himself. Marlena, who’s engrossed in her watch, doesn’t seem to notice.

Harry holds out his hands expectantly to Evan, who’s carrying April. Evan deposits April in his arms, and April giggles at Harry, who smiles. Evan has a seat next to Amir.

Zayn hasn’t said it to Amir, because he doesn’t want him to feel compelled to stay any longer than he wants to, but it’s been very nice to have them here. They all love April, and Harry likes to live vicariously through Amir being pregnant, and Zayn enjoys having him close, so he doesn’t have to worry about him as much as he normally does. Plus, the impending baby gives them something to focus on besides their middle-age dramas.

Harry tries to feed April a spoonful of his chia seed pudding, but she politely says, “No thank you,” and pushes the spoon away.

“It’s good,” Harry insists.

April shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Looks bad,” she says, making everyone at the table but Harry laugh.

“Let her have a waffle, Dad,” Toni says.

“You have to broaden their palates early,” Harry says. “It’s what we did for you.”

“But now _I’m_ eating waffles,” Toni points out.

“Your sister is eating chia pudding,” Harry counters.

“Yeah, ‘cos she’s weird and obsessed with her weight.”

“I am not,” Marlena says, taking out one earpiece for half a second before putting it back in and looking back down at her watch. Zayn eyes her, but she doesn’t look up at him.

April starts reaching her hands out toward Amir. He leans forward and hands her a piece of his toast, which she accepts gratefully. Harry sighs.

“What are you lot doing today?” Zayn says to Amir.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Maybe working on music, if I feel like it.”

“Sounds good. You owe us some piss today, by the way.”

Amir rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. He knows if he starts protesting, everyone will assume he’s using again. That was how they found out last year — he freaked out when his case manager asked for a routine urine sample, told her this was an invasion of his Fourth Amendment rights, and drove away from the Malibu location of his rehab, leaving his phone behind.

The case manager called Evan to notify him that Amir had left AMA, and Evan ran upstairs to tell Zayn, at which point he called 911.

The police did end up finding Amir, but not in the way Zayn had hoped. They found him because he was in their custody, cooling his heels in a Los Angeles jail cell after trying to buy cocaine and Percocet off an undercover cop.

Zayn and Evan were so pissed about the entire thing that they had to have Louis fly down to stay with Amir in the guesthouse while he detoxed, because neither of them could stand to be around him knowing that he’d spent two weeks lying to them while secretly stealing pills from Harry’s medicine cabinet and upping the dosage until his cocaine addiction resurfaced. They also felt stupid for not noticing, and worried about April, and full of despair about Amir’s trashed recovery. So Evan spent the better part of a week crashing in a guest room with April.

This marked the most time that he and Zayn had ever spent alone together. Neither of them were able to sleep much, so they often stayed up late together watching old war movies in silence.

“I’ll stand by him,” Evan said on one of these nights, out of nowhere. Neither of them had spoken for more than an hour. “I’m not leaving him. I’m just angry.”

“I get that,” Zayn said. “I’m angry too.” He thought for a while before adding, “I know if things ever got pure ugly between you two, you’d have every right to take that little girl away and keep her from all of us. I just ask that you please don’t.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Evan said raggedly. “You guys are the only family I have.”

“You might feel differently about that after you two split up.”

“We’re not splitting up,” Evan muttered. “It’s not even an option for me… you don’t get it.”

“I don’t?”

“We’re best friends. I don’t even know how to be a person without him.”

Zayn said nothing, because there was a time when that was exactly how he felt about Louis.

To his credit, Amir seemed as terrified by his relapse as the rest of them were. He cried floods of apologetic tears, started going to 12-step meetings with Zayn, got _the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak_ tattooed as a chest piece in a bizarre attempt at penance, and swore to them that had been his rock bottom, that he could go no lower than that. They all chose to believe him — the alternative was too chilling to contemplate.

Zayn knows, though, how easy it is to fall back in. You have to be so terrified of the consequences that you structure your life around preventing temptation, which he thought Amir was. Amir knows the consequences as well as anyone else: he could lose his husband and his daughter. He could lose his family’s trust. He could lose his career, his freedom, or even his life. None of that seemed to be on his mind when he was driving around Los Angeles looking for a drug dealer.

Then again, Zayn’s kids and career weren’t on his mind that night twenty-three years ago when he went to a poker game, started drinking again, and fucked someone who wasn’t the person he was married to.

Harry gets up to sit April in her high chair, and Evan passes a plate of fruit over to Amir, who makes a face.

“I have really bad heartburn today,” Amir says to Evan.

“Take some cantaloupe, it’s not acidic,” Evan suggests, still holding the plate.

Amir takes it from him and serves himself a few pieces of cantaloupe.

“Good lad,” Zayn says.

“You don’t have to praise me for eating, Dad, I’m not a foster kitten,” Amir says, before nibbling his toast.

“Not how it was meant.”

“Amir, I’m on the PR list for this new nutritional shake company that just started shipping their product,” Harry says. “I don’t really rate the shakes, ‘cos they taste like, well, nothing, but I’ve got six boxes of it, if you want me to put those in the guesthouse for you. They’d be good for adding in some calories throughout the day without having to actually eat.”

“My doctor says I’m fine,” Amir says, gesturing with his toast.

“I know, but the last month’s important,” Harry says. “You’re meant to put on as much weight as you can, so the baby can too.”

“Alright, fine, leave me the shakes.”

“I don’t understand why it’s so bad for babies to be born not weighing that much,” Marlena says. “Isn’t it worse to be, like, a fourteen pound baby?”

“Marlena’s worried about the obese babies,” Toni teases. “Maybe she can get them into baby HIIT classes.”

“Shut up,” Marlena says, throwing a coffee stirrer at her. Toni ducks it and laughs.

“Don’t throw stuff at your sister, Lena,” Harry says.

“She started it!”

Harry ignores this — he’s permissive with both the girls, but Toni especially. “Low birth weight usually means their lungs and heart aren’t as developed.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s a baby,” Marlena says. “Wouldn't they not be anyway?”

“Not developed enough to be safely out of the womb, is the point.”

Amir is cutting up strawberries to give to April, and doesn’t look up when he says: “My baby is fine.”

“Just explaining the concept to her,” Harry says.

Amir shoots him a look, but says nothing. Harry has been pretty meddlesome and overbearing about his pregnancy. Zayn has been thinking that’s a fair exchange for free room and board, plus use of their recording studio and on-call babysitting services, but maybe it’s time for him to say something to Harry about it.

*

Marlena always hides in her room after breakfast, but today Zayn thwarts her by knocking on her door only about ten minutes after she squirreled herself away.

“Can we talk a sec?” Zayn calls to her after his knock receives no answer.

“Fine,” Marlena yells back.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn opens her door to find her lounging on the large circular bed in the center of her room, the headboard of which is designed to make the bed look like an open clamshell. Her room is bright and airy, with all the gauzy-curtained windows open. It stands in sharp contrast to Toni’s room, which has blackout curtains and low-watt, warm lighting. plus walls covered in art and record sleeves. Marlena’s walls are basically bare. She considers herself a minimalist.

Marlena sits up, turning her wrist over so the hologram screen from her watch vanishes. “What’s up?”

Zayn comes in and sits on the bed beside her. “Just checkin’ in.”

“Okay,” Marlena says, like this is an inscrutable motive that she’ll nonetheless indulge.

Zayn reaches up to pet her hair. It’s thick and straight like Mia’s, but lighter — more like Harry’s in color. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” she says, meeting his eyes.

“Okay. ‘Cos you just seem a little stressed lately.”

“Well, I’m really sick of school, and I don’t think I should have to go anymore, but you already know that.”

“You need an education, lovey. Me and your dad want you to finish secondary and go to uni.”

Marlena flops back-down onto her bed. “And study what?”

“I dunno. Fashion merchandising, acting, whatever.”

“If I want to be a model or an actress, I’d be giving up some of my best years going to college,” Marlena says.

“Or,” Zayn says, “if you _don’t_ go, you’d be giving up some of your best years to go get tortured by an industry that doesn’t give a fuck about you as a person, only sees you as dollar amounts on a spreadsheet, and when you’re my age, you’ll wish you’d gotten an education and figured out what your other passions are.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just because you wish you got an education doesn’t mean it’s the most important thing in the world.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I didn’t say it is. But you don’t know who you are yet, love. Being young is your time to go and figure that out. And anyway, if you want to be an actress, go study acting. Go to Yale Drama School.”

“I definitely don’t have the grades to get into Yale.”

“Isn’t your school like a pipeline to those schools?” Zayn says, referring to the performing arts high school that she and Toni both attend.

“Yeah, and the rest of the kids in my theater program are better actors than me, with 4.5 GPAs,” Marlena says.

“Well, go to some whatever shitty drama school’ll take you,” Zayn says, and she laughs. “Go to Juilliard... you’re a legacy there, now.”

“I don’t have the grades or the talent to get into Juilliard, Dad,” Marlena says, rubbing at her right eye. “Sorry, I’m not special like Amir.”

Zayn thinks of all the hell that Amir’s specialness has put him through. He lies down beside her, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. “You are special,” he says. “You’re my daughter. I want you to experience life to the fullest.”

“I hate school,” Marlena murmurs. “I don’t want to experience any more school.”

“But college is different.”

“Is it? How would it be different? I’ll still be a freak.”

“How are you a freak?”

“I am, Daddy!” Marlena cries. “Everyone assumes I’m stuck-up ‘cos of who my parents are, and I’m not funny and chill enough to brush it off like Toni. The popular kids don’t like me ‘cos I’m shy and I don’t come to their gross bonfires on the beach where they all give each other bee-jays, and the theater kids don’t like me ‘cos I’m quiet and I just want to run my lines and go home. The boys don’t like me ‘cos I’m too tall and skinny, and the girls don’t like me ‘cos they’re jealous, which doesn’t even make sense, ‘cos the _boys_ don’t like me! And the athlete kids don’t like me ‘cos I’m clumsy and I suck at PE.”

Zayn tries to mentally move on from the bee-jays on the beach comment, which is hard, because he found it deeply alarming. “Sweetheart… that’s all superficial shit, I swear t’ you. It wouldn’t be like that at uni. You’d get to be yourself, and you’d find people who liked you for you.”

“Or if I modeled, the other models would be like me,” Marlena mutters. “They’d know what it’s like to be weird and too tall and have everyone talk about how you look all the time.”

“Modeling can wait. Modeling will be there when you’re twenty-two. If it ain’t, it wasn’t worth it in the first place. Nothing worth having is that fuckin’ fleeting.”

“You can’t stop me from doing what I want when I turn eighteen,” she threatens.

“I can’t,” Zayn admits, “but I’d hope that you value my life experience and my love for you enough to take what I’m sayin’ into consideration.”

Marlena sighs.

“Just look at your brother,” Zayn says to her, his voice soft. “Look how the industry chewed him up and spit him out. He’s barely recovered from it. Look at me, love, they did the same thing to me. Look at your dad. Look how he’s opened his veins for them, ‘e’s done every single thing they’ve told him to do for thirty years, he lived his life according to what blokes in suits in a conference room said was the best thing to do. And now he’s so frustrated artistically and he doesn’t even know why. Sometimes he doesn’t even know who he is, deep down. I don’t want that for you.”

Marlena sits up and looks at Zayn, her eyes large, her resemblance to Harry strong. “But he’s so successful,” she says.

“I know,” Zayn says. “And I’m tellin’ you that’s not the same thing as being happy. And it’s the opposite of bein’ free.”

“Being told what to do sounds kind of nice, though,” Marlena says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m okay with being told.”

“That’s what uni is for, not a career. You go into a career with that attitude, people’ll sense it and take advantage of you.”

Marlena shrugs.

“Can we do some research on drama schools together?” Zayn says. “You, me, Harry? Maybe you’ll see a program you like. I’m only asking you to keep an open mind.”

Marlena hesitates for a long moment, but finally says, “Okay. Fine.”

“Cheers. Thank you. Can I say something else?”

“What?”

“I’m glad that you eat healthy, but please don’t be afraid to still be a kid,” Zayn says. “You can eat mac and cheese sometimes. It’s okay.”

“I eat enough,” Marlena says defensively. “You know this is just how I’m built, plus I’m a vegetarian now.”

“I understand, love, I don’t mean how much you eat, I mean what you eat. You don’t have to eat the things Harry does.”

“Some people _like_ chia seed pudding.”

Zayn laughs. “I know. It’s just sometimes I feel like you’ve got it in your head that you’re already in Hollywood, holdin’ yourself to their standards, and I don’t want that for you. You’re too young to be doin’ surveillance on your body like that. You aren’t even full grown yet.”

“You and Dad hold yourselves to high standards.”

“It’s been a lifetime of unlearning that, for us,” Zayn says. “It’s sick, it’s wrong, it’s not how people should act. We don’t love ourselves the way I want you to be able to love yourself.”

Marlena doesn’t seem to know how to respond to this.

*

Amir has a long day of fucking around aimlessly ahead of him, so he heads for the pool after breakfast, because the water is the only place he feels comfortable right now. He rubs every inch of himself with sunscreen and puts on a pair of Gucci sunglasses that are just lying out in the poolhouse, then grabs his favorite floating lounge, tosses it in the water, and collapses onto it.

He’s dozing off under the bright noon sun when he hears Evan call “Hey” from the pool deck. Amir opens his eyes and lowers his sunglasses.

Evan’s standing at the edge of the pool, barefoot, holding the hand of April, who’s in a swimsuit. “She wanted to join you,” he explains.

Amir paddles himself over to them and leans his elbow on the pool’s edge, beckoning April to himself. April tumbles onto the lounge like a little gymnast and crawls up close to Amir, snuggling into his armpit. He kisses her on the head. Her processor isn’t on; Evan probably took it off in case she dives into the water. She swims like a little fish, now.

“I’m gonna sit out here and read,” Evan says.

Amir kicks the lounge away from the edge of the pool, and they start to float away. “You don’t have to stand guard, I’m not gonna let our kid drown,” he calls after him.

April can’t hear his tone, but she seems to pick up on the miffed expression on his face, because her brow knits in response.

“I know!” Evan says defensively. “That’s not why. It’s just a nice day out.”

He goes over to a chaise and sits down on it, pulling a rolled-up Kindle tablet from his back pocket and starting to read, kicking his feet up.

Amir strokes April’s hair. “He doesn’t trust me-e,” he sings to her.

He doesn’t sign that, because he doesn’t want her to know he said it, but April lays her hand on his larynx to feel the vibrations of his voice.

“When the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see,” Amir sings quietly, like he used to when she was an infant lying on his chest. “No, I won't be afraid, oh, I won't be afraid, just as long as you stand, stand by me…”

The baby stirs beneath his ribs, and Amir brings his hand to the tanned curve of his belly. After a moment he sees the imprint of a tiny foot press against his skin. Love surges in his heart.

“Foot,” he says to April, pointing to it and signing ‘foot’ to her.

“Baby foot?” April signs back.

“Baby foot.”

April puts her little hand to where the foot is pressing. Amir closes his eyes, feeling safe and content. The sun is warm on his cheeks and eyelids, and the cool air wafting off the pool and the ocean feels nice. He can hear the wind rustling in the palm trees.

“I love you,” he signs — without opening his eyes, because he’s too sleepy to.

A moment later, April’s little hand socks him in the shoulder. Amir jolts and looks at her; and she aggressively signs “I love you” back at him.

“Sorry,” Amir signs, deciding not to be pissed. He’d probably be pretty annoyed at someone if they turned around and put their fingers in their ears in the middle of a conversation with him. “Don’t hit.”

April apologetically snuggles back up under his arm. Amir allows himself to lightly doze as they float around, always staying half-alert, aware of any shifts or sudden movements from April’s wriggly little toddler body.

After about thirty minutes of happy cuddling, April seems to get bored and starts attempting to single-handedly paddle them back to shore. Amir helps her (slyly, so she doesn’t see that he’s helping and get mad about it, because she likes to do things by herself). Evan sets his Kindle aside, meeting them at the edge of the pool.

“Hi,” Amir says, slapping his tanned calf. He has a unicorn sticker stuck to his thick blonde leg hair. “Nice sticker.”

Evan looks down. “April,” he complains. “Quit putting stickers on me.”

“She can’t hear you,” Amir reminds him.

“Shit. I always forget.”

April climbs nimbly onto the pool deck from the armrest of the lounge and reaches her arms up for Evan. “Daddy,” she says at an ear splitting volume.

She figured out ages ago how to talk when she has the implant out, she just has no idea how loud she is. The first time they heard her talk without it was when they were still living with Liam and Louis, and Liam commented in amusement, “She’s got the Tommo volume.”

Evan picks April up and swings her in the air, making her shriek with giggles. “You need help getting up?” he says to Amir.

“I’m gonna hang out here a little longer,” Amir says, taking a sip from the water bottle in his cupholder.

“Okay. I took some cute photos of you guys, if you want me to send them to Gary. April’s face isn’t in them, she was hiding it in your shoulder, so they could go on Insta.”

Amir considers this, lowering his sunglasses to squint up at Evan despite the blinding halo of sunlight behind his head. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

“Whatever,” Evan says, shrugging. “Just you haven’t posted in a while.”

“I know.”

“I don’t care if you do or not, I just know Gary bugs you about it.”

Yes — Gary, and Harry, and Atlantic Records (although they seem afraid of pushing him to the brink again, so they handle him with kid gloves in a way they don’t do for their other artists).

“I should be posting,” Amir says. “I just feel like being private right now.”

The concern trolls would come out in force if he posted a photo where he’s pregnant and cuddling April, a photo that reminds people he has a kid and another on the way. He doesn’t need a reason to make people start spamming his mugshot photo in the replies of all of his official Twitter’s tweets. That happened for weeks after he won his Grammy, because he beat out two pop stars with vicious fanbases. Most of the Internet came to his defense, but Amir has thin skin, and the damage was done instantly. It isn’t hard to make him feel ashamed, especially when he’s pregnant and already sensitive.

“I get that,” Evan says. “I do too. I pretty much always do.”

“I know. Thanks for letting me post you once in a while.”

“Comes with the territory,” Evan says, smiling.

Amir almost never posts a photo of them that isn’t a throwback photo, these days. He feels so awkward posting posed, married-couple shots of them in turtlenecks, but he loves posting photos of them laughing together on the bus in middle school. His fans seem to prefer those, too.

Once in a while, someone (usually Mia) takes a good, relaxed candid of them, but Amir likes to cherish those, not share them with the entire world. He doesn’t want anyone wrecking his fragile peace.

*

In the afternoon, Evan takes April down to the beach for her daily run-around-in-the sand-and-chase-seagulls time, so Amir is free to hang out in the recording studio and play with the riffs he’s been working on. He’s lying on the massive couch in the studio’s anteroom, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position to play guitar in, when Toni comes in.

“Hey,” she says. She’s carrying her own guitar. “I heard you riffing in here, you want to jam?”

“Uh, yeah, if I can figure out how to actually play,” Amir says, gesturing with a flourish at his belly.

“Try putting it on your side,” Toni says, coming over and sitting down next to him. She ducks under her guitar’s strap and strums out a chord. “Like along your left side.”

Amir obliges. This is still pretty uncomfortable, but at least he can see the strings. “That works, I guess.”

“Is the baby kicking?”

“Little bit.” Amir takes her hand and brings it to a spot right below his belly button, where there are small flutters of movement.

When he first got here, it annoyed him how much his family wanted to touch his stomach all the time, but he’s learned to appreciate it. They really are genuinely happy about the baby, which came as an honest surprise to Amir. After The Incident, and his descents into and out of addiction, he thought if he ever got pregnant again that it would be a capital-P Problem, that everyone would spend his entire pregnancy paralyzed with fear about him fucking things up.

But besides Harry riding herd on his health and diet, no one is giving him a hard time the way he expected. Even Zayn, who he knows would have preferred that his son had put off marriage and kids until age 30, often absent-mindedly touches his belly and gives it crinkly-eyed smiles.

They’re giving him the benefit of the doubt, which means more to him than he can say. Amir doesn’t necessarily even feel like he deserves it, but it’s precious to him nonetheless.

Toni sits in silence for a moment, with her warm hand pressed to his warmer skin. “Are you guys gonna stay with us after you have it?” she says.

“I dunno.” Amir plucks at the guitar. He hasn’t played much lately, and his calluses have started to shrink. “Probably for a little while. Depends.”

He and Louis had already agreed that he and Evan should either stay with Louis and Liam or Zayn and Harry for a few months after the baby is born, in case Amir descends into postpartum psychosis again. Their logic is that having loads of people around is the best way to avert potential catastrophe; plus, having help with the baby and April will prevent Amir from getting as sleep-deprived as he got last time.

Amir kind of wishes he could just go back to Monterey with Evan, to their little house on the ocean, and be their own family. Be independent, be real adults, enjoy their new baby in privacy — but that’s a privilege reserved for people who don’t have evil demons lurking in their brains.

Toni starts playing her own guitar, and Amir joins in, improvising easily with what she’s playing. Before long they have a nice melody going, and the sound of it fills the room.

They both start singing, nothing in particular, just vocalizing over the melody, harmonizing with each other. When they finally set their guitars down, exhausted, Amir glances at his watch and is stunned to see that an hour has passed.

Toni kicks at the underside of the coffee table with her sock feet. “Can I ask you something?” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Could you ever imagine yourself giving a baby up for adoption?” she says. “Or abandoning it?”

Amir thinks about it. “If I was really desperate,” he says. “If I wasn’t born into money, and I knew I couldn’t give it a good life, if the only way for the baby to be okay was for someone else to raise it, then yeah.”

This question cuts a little deeper than he’s comfortable with. More than most people do, he lives with the possibility that his babies could be taken away from him if he were to slide back into active addiction, or even if he were to lose his mind again and get sent back to the psych ward. His children don’t feel like _his_ in a permanent way; April hasn’t been his for good ever since the police ripped her from his arms after he wandered into traffic holding her.

There’s also the fact that if he were back in active addiction, it would be better for him to be away from them. He’d probably have to go to in-patient rehab this time, and depending on how bad the relapse was, maybe he’d only be allowed to see his kids under supervised visitations. Maybe Evan would leave him and take them away.

Amir cups his belly before he even realizes he’s doing it. He sometimes wishes this baby could stay inside him, stay his forever.

Toni’s jaw is set hard. “But wouldn’t you try to find the baby later on?”

“Yeah, I would.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes her, trying to stop thinking about himself and focus on what she’s actually saying. “But your birth parents don’t have any way to find you, y’know?”

“My dad’s talked about me in interviews,” Toni mutters. “How I got left at a fire station in L.A., and stuff. You’d think if you were my parents, you’d put two and two together.”

“Not everyone in the world reads Harry’s interviews,” Amir says gently.

Toni snorts.

“Plus, they don’t have any way to contact you, and maybe they think you’re better off. Maybe they’re waiting until you’re eighteen.”

“Or maybe I have family out there who don’t even know about me, and if I did an ancestry service, I could find them,” Toni counters.

Amir sighs. “Tones, the dads are just scared of what could happen.”

“What’s going to happen?” she says impudently, kicking the table harder. “What — I get something I really want? I never ask for anything, I swear. And now, when I want _one_ thing…”

“Look, first of all, they’re afraid of people coming out of the woodwork to take advantage of the fame and money thing,” Amir says. “Blood isn’t everything. Sometimes blood just uses blood as an excuse to be a leech. Second, they don’t know what you might find out, and they’re scared of you getting hurt.”

Tears gather in Toni’s eyes, and Amir strokes her hair.

“It’s just I see how much you love your baby already,” she chokes out. “ I just wonder if someone loved me like that, and if they did, why wasn’t it enough for them to keep me?”

“Toni, Toni… they left you somewhere safe, wrapped in a blanket. They wanted you to be taken care of. That’s the most basic thing you ever want for your baby, even if you can’t give it anything else.”

Toni wipes her eyes. Amir rarely ever sees her cry; she’s always been a happy-go-lucky, strong-willed rubber ball of a kid. He wraps his arms around her, stroking her hair some more.

“When I relapsed last year,” he says with difficulty, “it was ‘cos I wasn’t thinking of April. I did think about her. I just got into such a dark place, I thought she’d be better off without me… the same way I felt when I left for tour. I knew she’d be safe and taken care of with Evan, and with Dad and Harry, and I was so miserable, I knew I had to go find more drugs just to stop feeling like that.”

Toni sniffs. “But why?”

“‘Cos… I dunno. It’s hard to explain. It’s like telling someone to hold their breath indefinitely. If you get to a certain point, you’re gonna gasp for air.” Amir shrugs. “So, I gasped for air. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my daughter. I just didn’t have all the tools I needed to stay clean, back then. Just because you become a parent, it doesn’t mean you stop being human, with human needs and flaws.”

“What does that _mean_ , though?”

“It means… look, I don’t know anything about your parents, but I know that them giving you up doesn’t automatically mean they didn’t love you. Sometimes people become parents in really shitty, untenable situations, and they do what they can.”

She meets his eyes. “Do you think whoever gave birth to me was a drug addict?”

“I dunno,” Amir says honestly. “My dad said once that the hospital found traces of opioids in your system, when they tested you for that.”

Toni nods. “They told me about that.”

“But he didn’t say they found any in your hair, or anything, and you didn’t have withdrawals, so maybe your mom or dad wasn’t using while they were pregnant… just when they were in labor.”

He knows a lot about the mechanisms of drug use during pregnancy, being a pregnant recovering drug addict. His case manager has spent months telling him horror stories about detoxing newborns she’s worked with, who were born in acute pain and with heart valve defects, et cetera. She doesn’t have to do that, though — Amir has had zero interest in drugs all year. Why would he? He’s been genuinely happy.

Toni is quiet for a while. “Well, I already ordered the ancestry kit with my own money,” she finally says, her eyes bright with defiance. “And I sent in my DNA, and I lied and said I was eighteen so I could get the results without my parents approving it.”

“You didn’t,” Amir says as his heart drops.

“I did. And you can’t tell either of them.”

“I won’t, but Christ. When do you get the results back?”

“In a few days.” Toni sniffles again, and Amir tries to lean over to the coffee table to grab her a tissue, but he’s too pregnant to manage this. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” She wipes her eyes with her hoodie sleeve.

“Do you want me to, like, sit with you while you look at them?” Amir offers.

Toni nods. “Yeah. That would be good. Thanks.”

“Did you tell Marlena?”

“No. She wouldn’t get it.”

“And I would?” Amir says.

Toni cuts her eyes at him in a very Zayn-like way. “Look,” she says, “I love Marlena, but nothing bad has ever happened to her. She doesn’t get it — why being adopted is hard, sometimes. But bad stuff has happened to you, and you’re from a broken home and shit, so…”

Amir laughs. “I get it.”

“It’s like Trauma Club.”

Amir reaches out and links pinkies with her.

*

Amir ends up getting work done on three of the songs he has in progress before he knocks off for the day and heads back to the guesthouse to cuddle with Evan and April while watching movies.

Zayn knocks around 10, long after they’ve put April to bed. “I need your pee,” he calls through the door.

Evan gets up and crosses the living room to go answer the door. Amir, who was leaning on him, sighs discontentedly and shifts to lean on a pillow instead.

“Hi,” Evan says once he’s pulled the door open. Zayn gives him a brisk nod. “I watched him give the sample like an hour ago, I put it in the fridge...”

He holds up a finger and heads into the kitchen. The living area of the guesthouse is all one big room, with the couch butting up against a series of bookcases that divide the living room from the kitchen and dining room; down the hall are the two bedrooms and single bathroom.

It’s cozy. Amir likes it. Having too much space to himself makes him anxious; he likes to be hemmed in. Their house in Monterey isn’t very big, either — what it lacks in grandeur, it makes up for in beach access.

“You could just trust that I’m not doing drugs,” he teases Zayn. “Then you wouldn’t have to come get my pee.”

Evan comes back over, handing the small plastic container to Zayn, who takes it.

“I would love to not ‘ave to come down here to get your pee,” he says drily. “But you lost the privilege of being trusted, unfortunately, and this sample has to be at the lab by eight tomorrow.”

Evan returns to Amir, cuddling up against him and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his head. Amir knows he’s doing this because he agrees with Zayn, but feels guilty about doing so.

“You wanna stick around?” Amir offers. “We’re just watching TV.”

“Nah, I have some work things to take care of before I head to bed,” Zayn says, not sounding all too happy about it. “You two enjoy your alone time. You don’t get as much of it once you’ve got two kids, trust me.”

In defiance of this concept, Amir wraps his arms around Evan and pulls him in for a deep tongue kiss. Evan makes a choking sound and jerks away from him.

“On that note, I’ll be off,” Zayn intones. “Thanks for the piss, Meer. Get a good night’s sleep, both of you, and lock this door behind me, yeah?”

“Will do, you too,” they chorus.

Zayn pulls the front door shut, and they hear his footsteps going down their front walk as he heads back up to the big house.

Amir plays with the longish hair at the nape of Evan’s neck. “I can’t believe you won’t let me kiss you in front of my dad.”

Evan sighs. “Dude, I am on such thin ice with your dad all the time, that isn’t even funny.”

“Please, you aren't. He’s so used to you now.”

“Being used to someone isn’t the same as liking them.”

Amir reaches up with his other hand and cups Evan’s cheek, turning his face until their eyes meet. Evan smiles at him in an openly besotted way that makes him feel both loved and powerful.

“I love you,” Amir says, smiling back.

“I love you too.”

Amir snuggles into his arms and takes Evan’s hand in his own, guiding his palm to the baby bump. Evan glides his fingers over his skin, then presses a hand to him.

“I wanna meet this baby, already,” he murmurs.

“I do too,” Amir says, nuzzling him.

Evan runs his fingers over the newest tattoo on the inside of Amir’s left forearm (which reads _whenever they catch you, they will kill you, but first they must catch you)_ before kissing him deeply — a real kiss this time, one that makes him feel tingly and warm.

“Don’t do that,” Amir murmurs, turning his head to break the kiss. “You know we can’t have sex, you’re just teasing me.”

“I know we can’t have _sex_ sex, but we could jerk each other off or something,” Evan offers.

Amir picks up the remote and turns the TV off. “Say less. Help me up.”

Evan complies, getting to his feet and easily yanking Amir up off the couch like he’s a sack of potatoes. “Do you care if I use my left hand? Right one’s still iffy.”

“I don’t care… a hand’s a hand.”

Evan kisses him on the forehead, making him smile. “Meer?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Yeah,” Amir says.

“Please don’t get any new tattoos for a while,” Evan says.

Amir lets out a choked breath of offense.

“No, listen, you know I like your tattoos,” Evan clarifies. “I’m just afraid you’re gonna literally cover your whole body in them before we’re thirty.”

“I only have like, nine!”

“But they’re _big_ …”

“They’re not! It’s just my last two were quotes, and words take up a lot of space.”

“The wings are big,” Evan says, wincing apprehensively after he says it. 

Amir looks hurt. “I thought you liked the wings!”

Evan kisses him again. “I do, but if you keep getting more and more, then the ones I like are gonna get lost in the shuffle.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t get any new ones for a while.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, if you really loved me, you would get a tattoo for me,” Amir says. “You would tattoo my name on your face and ballsack.”

“Please don’t start this again,” Evan begs him, wrapping his hands around his shoulders and leading him to the bedroom, kissing him between the shoulder blades.

“I can’t believe I have to carry your children and you won’t even tattoo your ballsack for me. I’d tattoo my ballsack for you.”

“I don’t _want_ you to tattoo your ballsack for me.”

“I’d do it anyway. You know, my dad has Liam’s initials tattooed on his literal ass. Why don’t you have my initials tattooed on your literal ass?”

“Because your initials are ATM,” Evan says. “And I don’t want to tattoo ‘ATM machine’ on my ass.”

“AWTM,” Amir counters.

Evan lets out an aggrieved sigh and pushes him over the threshold of the bedroom. “We’ll talk after you have the baby.”

“Sick.”

*

Evan falls asleep almost immediately after he comes, but Amir can’t seem to drift off. He lies there cradled in Evan’s arms, feeling the baby kick, feeling the A/C blow on his bare feet.

He keeps thinking about what Toni said about her parents. His biggest fear is his children being stolen from him, but what if he didn’t have all this money, all this privilege, all this support? What if he was alone and poor on top of being crazy? Would he willingly give a baby up, in that situation, in the hopes that it would have a better life?

Amir isn’t even sure he would survive without a safety net; he thinks sometimes that he isn’t built for this world. Maybe he’d be one of those homeless brilliant musicians who goes viral for playing sonatas in the New York subway.

After a half hour of his brain chasing itself in circles, he gets up, patting Evan’s arm. “I’m gonna go up to the big house,” he whispers. “I want a cup of tea, and we don’t have any.”

“Wanme go with you?” Evan slurs, half-asleep.

“No, that’s okay.” Amir kisses his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Evan mumbles, and rolls over.

*

Harry can’t sleep, either. He _should_ be able to. He took melatonin and all of his supplements, he meditated, worked out for an hour in the morning and swam in the evening, spent seven hours working and three with his family, then he and Zayn had sex and then both read books in bed for forty-five minutes before turning the lights off.

Despite all this, insomnia grabs him and clings to him. So he gets out of bed and goes down to the kitchen, where he drinks mineral water and stares out the window that overlooks the ocean, watching the wind ripple the dark sea.

He’s been doing this for about twenty minutes when he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him. He’s expecting Zayn or one of the girls, but when he turns, he sees Amir, coltish and awkward in late pregnancy.

“Hey,” Harry says, waving his watch at the ceiling to turn the lights on.

“Hi,” Amir says. “Sorry. I just wanted some tea.”

“Don’t apologize.” Amir shuffles in sock feet over to the kettle, and Harry dismisses him with a hand gesture. “Get off your feet,” he says. “I’ll make you tea.”

“Thanks,” Amir says, going over to the island and maneuvering himself onto a stool. “Do you know how I —”

“Yes.”

“— take it? Thanks.”

“I’m going to make you some red raspberry leaf tea,” Harry says, fetching the tin of it from the cupboard. “It strengthens the uterine walls, I drank a cup a day every day of my last month with Marlena.”

Amir looks discontented. “Does it taste good?”

“It tastes fine.”

“Alright,” he acquiesces.

“You’ll thank me someday for being such a pain in your ass this last month or so,” Harry says, starting up the kettle before turning back around to Amir, folding his arms. “When this baby’s a healthy genius.”

“I think I turned out okay, and I don’t think my dad took care of himself very well before he had me,” Amir says.

“He got lucky.”

Amir snorts.

“And I don’t know that he didn’t take care of himself,” Harry adds. “I wasn’t talking to him much, around that time.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t drinking raspberry leaf tea.”

“No, I’m sure he wasn’t.”

Amir eyes him. “Were you mad at my dad, back then?”

“Mad? No. Why?”

“You just said you guys weren’t talking at all.”

“Well, he just wasn’t in my life.”

“You had to be a _little_ mad, though.”

“Did I?” Harry says, pulling his folded arms tighter across his chest. “According to who?”

Amir shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve just been thinking about this, lately… like, how I got together with Evan when we were seventeen, and then we broke up, but we got back together down the road… it just makes me think of you and my dad.”

“Does it?”

“Well, if Evan had started hooking up with one of my friends while we were apart, and got them pregnant, and then married them… I’d be so pissed. He’s my first love, the way my dad was yours.”

Harry’s face heats up; he appreciates being understood and empathized with, but he doesn’t want it from Amir, not on this subject. He loves Amir, but Amir is not supposed to act as a confidante to him. It’s unsettling enough when Mia does it, but he’s come to accept that that’s just who she is, and he’s disengaged enough from her life to not feel like it’s a conflict of interest to vent to her once in a while.

Besides, Mia is like Louis: an open book. She reveals all motives immediately, and confiding in her feels like confiding in a therapist or an EMT. Amir is like Zayn — he vanishes below the depths of himself, phocine, and takes your secrets with him when he goes. Then he bobs to the surface years later like a cork, holding your heart in his hands, ripping into it with his teeth.

“I was hurt,” Harry says. “I got over it.” He stares Amir down, looking into the dark eyes that are so much like his husband’s.

Amir smooths his hands over his belly, giving off an innocently maternal vibe that makes Harry feel bad for getting defensive. “Not really though, right? You did marry my dad, later on… It’s not like you fully got over him.”

“At the time, I moved on,” Harry says. “I had to live my life. I wasn’t expecting to reunite with Zayn, and I certainly didn’t plan on it.”

“No, I get that. I just mean, if you’d been able to have with my dad the life that I have with Evan… me and Mia wouldn’t exist.”

He hesitates. “No, you wouldn’t.”

The kettle beeps. Harry returns to it and starts fixing Amir a cup of tea, stuffing raspberry leaves and other herbs into a mesh tea ball, his utensils clinking loudly in the quiet of the kitchen. He serves the cup of tea to Amir and clears his throat.

“Let it steep,” he says.

Amir nods. “What’s strengthening my uterine muscles gonna do?”

“Keeps the baby from coming early.”

“Oh. Yeah, I need that.”

“I’ve been trying to get you to drink this stuff ever since you got here,” Harry says, trying not to sound judgmental.

“I know, you’ve just been telling me about so many things that I started tuning you out,” Amir says apologetically. “I’m not a supplements type of person.”

“I know you aren’t… they do help, though. Especially with baby-related things. I mean, for instance, you had milk supply issues with April, so you should be on fenugreek capsules right now —”

“Harry,” Amir begs. “Please, dude. Seriously.”

“I’m just saying, men have a harder time with childbearing to begin with, we aren’t built for it. We need all the help we can get.”

“The reason I had milk issues with April was ‘cos she had just gotten home from the NICU when I got sent to the psych ward, so my supply dried up and never came back,” Amir says, his dark eyes flashing. “Plus, what I did have was full of anti-psychotic meds, so I couldn’t nurse her anyway. That wasn’t some fuck-up on my part.”

“I know,” Harry says, wincing apologetically. “It wasn’t meant as a criticism.”

“Well, that was the vibe!”

“Vibe unintended.”

Amir swirls the tea ball around, staring into the cup as he does. “When did you even first meet me and Mia?” he says abruptly. “I don’t remember.”

Harry, taken aback by the question, wipes his hands on a dish towel to buy himself some time to answer. “Erm… 2021, I believe.”

“Wow. It took that long?”

“I wasn’t really in your dads’ lives at the time you were born,” Harry says, shrugging.

“Still, that seems like so long. You still talked to Dad, didn’t you? Sometimes?”

Harry inhales, then exhales. “It wasn’t as if Louis was begging me to come meet you,” he says. “I didn’t exactly volunteer, but it wasn’t something he was interested in having happen. We weren’t even on speaking terms until early that year. So I just met you when it organically happened.”

Amir swirls the tea ball some more. “How did that feel?”

“It was nice... I’d already seen photos of you, Louis had told me about you.” Harry’s quiet. “I didn’t hold the situation against you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I liked you both. You were cute kids.”

“If Evan had kids with one of my friends, I’d want to dropkick those kids out of a window,” Amir says.

Harry smiles at him. “No you wouldn’t,” he says gently. “Not if you loved Evan. Not if you loved the friend.”

“Even then.”

“I promise I never once wanted to dropkick you out of a window.”

Amir stirs his tea, adding in cream from a little carafe that Harry gave him. “Right person, wrong time,” he says. “Like Charles and Camilla.”

“Please,” Harry says, with an unbidden wince. “Don’t make me be _Camilla_. What’s got you thinking about me and your dad, anyway?”

Amir inhales, then lets out a tiny sigh. “I’ve just been talking with Toni,” he says.

“Oh,” Harry says, suddenly full of parental nerves and worry. “And?”

“Well, she’s been upset. She wants to know where she came from.” Amir meets his eyes. “She loves you guys so much, she doesn’t want to like, replace you, or anything. She just wants to know her story, she wants to know why she was abandoned.”

“I know,” Harry says, even though thinking about this makes his heart twist with anxiety and guilt. “I understand. I’d like to know, too.”

“So… why not let her take the test, then?” Amir says.

“You know why. It’s opening a can of worms.” Harry clears his throat. “Listen… this stays between us, you don’t tell Toni, but we had private investigators look into her background when we were in the process of adopting her.”

“And?”

“Well, the state looked for a biological parent after she was found. They even checked hospitals within a thirty mile radius for up to a week after, to see if someone had checked in with signs of having recently given birth but didn’t have a newborn with them. They found no one.”

“What happened to her parents, then?” Amir says, round-eyed.

“I don’t know. I’ve had a feeling… just a feeling, but I think whoever gave birth to her is either dead, incapacitated, or profoundly disinterested. It’s always seemed weird to me that no birth parent has approached our lawyers, looking at least for some kind of cash. We’re famous, and her background isn’t a secret, they could put two and two together.”

Amir sips his tea.

“I’m afraid of her being disappointed,” Harry says. “Either by a lack of information, or finding out something she really doesn’t want to. And I’m afraid of her pulling away from us. I know it’s natural at their age, but it still hurts. You have no idea, yet. Your daughter still relies on you for everything.”

“No, I know,” Amir murmurs. “I know what I put my parents through when I disappeared.”

“Right. I guess you have some idea.” Harry drums his fingers on the island. “Anyway,” he says. “What does Toni’s situation have to do with you?”

“It doesn’t.” Amir pauses. “Other than me being her brother.”

“No, of course. I’m just curious why it got you thinking about me and your dad.”

“It didn’t, really.” Amir sips more of his tea. “It got me thinking about, like, how different my life could have been.”

Harry’s quiet.

“If, you know. I was poor, or didn’t have family to support me.” He shrugs. “Plus, no offense, Harry, but I’m not stupid. I’ve noticed you’ve been a little tense around me.”

“Why would you think I’m tense around you?”

“Because I have eyes,” Amir says, laughing. His laugh sounds exactly like Louis’, and despite Harry’s protestations, his shoulders tighten up at the sound. “I know deep down you think I’m an irresponsible drug addict, and I probably shouldn’t be having babies, and it sucks that it’s so easy for me to get pregnant —“

“I don’t think any of that,” Harry interrupts. “Look, if I’ve seemed tense around you, lately, it’s got nothing to do with you personally, or the ancient shit with me and your dad. I’m just having a hard time with getting older, and my girls growing up... I helped raise you, and now you’re old enough to be married with children of your own. That’s a hard pill to swallow.”

Amir studies his face.

“I think I had a fantasy for a long time that Zayn and I would have another miracle baby late in life,” Harry admits, a lump rising in his throat. “It was probably always impossible, and I never actually believed it would happen, it was just nice to think about. But with me turning fifty, Zayn having two grandchildren… I’m finally letting the fantasy die.”

Amir looks at him, his eyes still round, the overhead light shining in them.

“This is the hardest part of life,” Harry says. “For me, anyway. This middle-aged winding down business.”

“You’re not winding down,” Amir says in a soft voice.

“It certainly feels like I am,” Harry says. “This is why people have midlife crises, I guess.” He nods at Amir’s teacup. “Drink your tea.”

Amir takes another sip. “It tastes gross.”

“Healthy stuff tastes gross, you have to just get over that.”

Amir makes a face at him.

“Look, I don’t resent you for being Zayn’s son with Louis, for the record,” Harry says. “I don’t resent you for getting pregnant easily, and I don’t resent you for struggling with addiction. I don’t resent you for anything — I love you. If I’ve been tense, it’s because I’m feeling tense, lately, and I feel an obligation to you ‘cos you’re pregnant, and a bit fragile, so I feel sort of a pressure to be doing everything I can for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Amir says. “I have so many people taking care of me right now, it’s fine.”

“I know.” Harry drums his fingers on the island again. “Maybe it _is_ a bit hard for me, subconsciously,” he admits. “Being around pregnant people, I mean. I remember when Louis was pregnant with his twins, I had been wanting a baby very badly for a while, and I was just getting back together with your dad then. So whenever I saw him cranky and unhappy, I was just blown away, ‘cos it seemed like such a gift to me… two healthy boys? But he was able to take it for granted.”

“I don’t take this for granted,” Amir says, his voice soft again as he touches his stomach. “I worry about my babies being taken away all the time. I have nightmares about it. It’s not the same as a miscarriage, I get that, but it’s not totally different, either.”

“I know.”

“And my dad — I know that he loves all of us more than anything, but you know as well as I do that he never meant to end up with four, five kids.” Amir finishes his tea and sets it down hard, making another disgusted face. “That just kind of happened to him. He was stressed out all the time when we were younger, and I didn’t feel like I got a lot of attention, sometimes. Not that I’m blaming him for any bad choices I’ve made in life, but… y’know. Middle child of divorced parents, six siblings, it’s a lot. You feel like you get lost in the shuffle.”

“Your parents have always cherished you so much,” Harry tells him. “You know that.”

“I do. But I dunno if I felt it so much, when I was younger.”

“Do any of us feel cherished when we’re young?” Harry shrugs. “Being young is lonely and hard. Especially for people like you and me.”

“Who’s people like you and me?”

“People who stand out… people who feel called to a higher purpose.”

Amir doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, but he nods.

Harry pauses and weighs his words for a while. “I used to see a lot of myself in you,” he says. “I still do. That isn’t a secret. But you’re not my son… you’re your fathers’ son. Deep down, you don’t really give a shit what anyone thinks.”

He stops and inhales, gathering his thoughts again while Amir watches him.

“I admired Louis so much, when I first met him,” Harry says. “Not that I don’t still… I do… but when I was young, I idolized him. I wanted to be able to not give a shit what people thought of me, but I never could. I could never let go of the desire to please everyone. And as much as I wanted to mentor you, and mold you, you take after him too much. You resisted me.”

“I didn’t resist you,” Amir murmurs. “I just couldn’t do what you wanted me to. It wasn’t _me_ , I didn’t have it in me. I’m not you. I can’t put myself through what you put yourself through.”

“You wanted to be free.”

“Yeah.”

“You think I’m a bird in a gilded cage,” Harry says.

“No,” Amir insists.

“It’s okay if you do.”

“But I don’t,” Amir says. “I always looked up to you. I wanted to be you. I’m just _not_ you. That’s not a bad thing, it’s not a good thing, it just is what it is. It’s always been like this… I told you that years ago, after I married Evan.”

Harry nods. “I don’t think I wanted to hear it.”

“I know you didn’t,” Amir says. “Look, I don’t want to be a superstar anymore. I don’t. I think it would kill me, I really do. I’m already more famous than I want to be, I have dudes I slept with in college selling stories about what I’m like in bed to the _New York Post_. My husband has to see that shit,” he says, his husky voice rising. “My kids are gonna see that shit someday. And there’s nothing I can do about it, and I didn’t even choose this life. You all got a choice. I didn’t want to be the work product of One Direction. I’m a person.”

“I know, Amir.”

Amir’s eyes have filled with tears that he sweeps away with his pinkies, in a practiced, feminine gesture that Harry recognizes as his own.

“My career, to me, isn’t about what I could possibly do for other people, if I just let them use me,” Amir says. “It’s about what I can stand. It’s about what sacrifices I’m willing to make.”

“I don’t let people use me,” Harry says. “I’m a full partner in every venture made in my name.”

“Look, is it such an insult to your life for me to say I just don’t want it?” Amir says. “That’s not fair to me. Different people want different things.”

“I know they do.”

“So what’s the problem?”

What’s the problem? The problem is that Amir is a prodigious musical talent with a brilliant ear, a beautiful singer, charming, witty, good-looking. The problem is that someone like this was delivered to Harry at age seven, in the form of the son that the love of his life had with another man, and Harry got a front-row seat to see him grow up. The problem is that Harry mentored and nurtured the emotional side of this boy, and saw his brilliance begin to emerge. The problem is that he was born to privilege and ease, and is weaker than Harry ever was, weaker than any of them ever were. The problem is that the dark shadow of Zayn’s worst qualities emerged in him too. The problem is that the aspects of Louis that terrify Harry to this day showed up soon after.

Harry remembers seeing his hopes for molding Amir begin to fade after two specific moments: when he dissed Jeff backstage at the Troubadour, and when he asked Harry if he should factor his marriage to Evan into his career decisions. Both times, Louis seemed to leap out of Amir like a phantom, taunting Harry:

 _You thought he could be partly yours — the son you never got to have? You thought he could be_ you? _No, he’s me, Louis, your karmic partner. He’s going to live a negative of your life and do all the things you wouldn’t. He’ll make the opposite sacrifices, the opposite choices, he’ll have the same drug of choice but unlike you he’ll disappear into it, he’ll drown in it, he won’t be able to handle it and there won’t be a thing you can do. He’s going to teach you that you want to control everything, but in reality you can control nothing._

Harry wanted Amir to follow in his footsteps for all the reasons anyone ever wants a young person to follow in their footsteps: wanting a legacy, fear of morality, the desire to be useful into old age, the desire to be fully seen and assessed as a worthy blueprint by someone just starting out in life.

Amir _said_ he wanted it, is the thing. He always claimed that he wanted the glamorous life: Fashion Week, photoshoots and editorials, long interviews in glossy magazines about his fashion and philosophy, taking a stage for a crowd of screaming thousands. He said he wanted all of this. Then he reneged. He saw it, he tasted it, and he turned his nose up at it. He turned his nose up at Harry’s entire life and way of being.

“There is no problem,” Harry finally says to him. “You’ll understand, someday, when you’re having your own midlife crisis, and looking back on things.”

“I had to give up the hope that my daughter will ever even hear music the way I do,” Amir retorts. “I won’t have the luxury of being upset about her taking a different path in my industry.”

“Allow me my frivolities,” Harry says to him, his tone gentle. “Someday they’ll be all I’ll have.”

“It’s not like you to hang around feeling sorry for yourself,” Amir says, unrelenting. “What happened? Does everyone’s brain just explode when they turn fifty, or something?”

“Yes,” Harry says in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “My brain exploded.”

He hears footsteps entering the kitchen, and looks up to see Evan standing in the doorway in his pajamas, sleepy-eyed, stifling a yawn.

“Hey,” he says to Amir, not seeming to sense the awkward tension. “You good?”

“What, are you checking up on me?” Amir says, his expression shifting toward unhappiness. “You think I lied about coming up here and actually ran away to do drugs while I’m nine months pregnant?”

“You’ve just been gone a long time,” Evan says, and then the yawn comes, ultimately unstifleable. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, me and Harry were talking.” Amir glances up at Harry. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Anytime,” Harry says.

Amir slides off the stool and does his wobbly walk over to Evan, who puts an arm around his waist to support him as they head back down the hall. Evan glances back, meeting Harry’s eyes for a brief moment.

Harry can tell from the mingled relief and fear in them that yes, Evan was scared that Amir had run away to do drugs.

MALIBU, AUGUST 4, 2044

Ever since they were expecting April, Evan has gotten way more excited about Amir’s ultrasounds than Amir does. It’s probably because Amir feels the baby all day, so a little 3D face on a screen is nothing more than a footnote to what he already knows intimately. But for Evan, this is the most he can connect with their baby, besides laying down in Amir’s lap with his head against his stomach.

Amir lies back in the chair with his t-shirt pushed up, waiting for his ob-gyn to get situated. Evan holds his hand, using his other hand to stroke Amir’s hair. It’s a little much, but Amir isn’t about to protest. He loves being babied and pampered.

“So how are we feeling, Dad?” asks Dr. Brian, without looking up from the screen he’s engrossed in.

“I feel fine,” Amir says. “I mean, I’m exhausted, and I feel like I can’t do anything, but, like, whatever, it’ll be over soon.”

“That’s the spirit,” Brian says, making them both laugh.

“I’ve been taking it very easy,” Amir says, and nudges Evan. “Haven’t I?”

“He has,” Evan says, all solemn and loyal like a guard dog. He leans in to kiss Amir on the head, and Amir smiles at him, feeling happy.

“Have baby’s movements changed at all?” Brian says, coming over to him and spreading the cold ultrasound goo on his stomach.

“No,” Amir says, wincing. “Same as always.”

“Okay. You let me know if they do change.”

Amir nods. He remembers when April’s movements slowed down — he was in the hospital on Christmas Day, twenty-three and scared and stupid, with Louis and Evan by his side and his entire family in the waiting room. Through a haze of painkillers, he noticed her moving less and less, and said so to a nurse. A moment later, her blood pressure fell off a cliff, and then so did his. The last thing he remembers is being wheeled toward an OR with an anesthesia mask over his face.

This baby feels stronger than April did, though. Maybe it’s just because he’s gotten further in this pregnancy than he ever did with April, but its kicks feel more insistent, its movements more spastic. April just floated inside of him like a contented little mermaid, pressing her feet and hands gently against his womb. This baby feels like it’s fighting to come out.

Brian presses the ultrasound wand to him, and turns the 4D hologram display so they can see it. There’s not much to see, at first, just shapes that look like the inside of a cave system, and then they see an image of the baby’s face.

“Hi baby,” Amir says softly. Evan squeezes his hand.

“Still don’t want to know the sex?” Brian says.

“No,” Evan answers for Amir. “Meer likes to be surprised.”

“I do,” Amir murmurs, still staring at his baby’s face, its tiny closed eyes and delicate nose. He’s torn between wanting desperately to hold it in his arms, and wanting it to stay inside him forever, so it can be safe. “Anything wrong with it?”

“Nothing at all that I can see,” Brian says. “No changes since last week. Just a little bigger, lungs and heart sound a little more powerful. They do a lot of developing in the last month.”

“I know,” Amir says.

“Right,” Brian says apologetically. “I keep forgetting you guys aren’t first-timers.”

“Because we’re young?” Amir teases.

“No-o,” Brian says. “I have a lot of young patients.” He points at the hologram. “Check it out, baby just closed its eyes.”

Amir gazes at the image, enchanted. “Can you send me a video file from this? I want to send it to my dad.”

“Of course, yeah. I’ll pop it in your patient portal when we’re done here.”

Evan continues to stroke Amir’s hair. Amir takes the hand of Evan’s that he’s holding — his injured hand — and trails his fingers over the ridge of scar tissue on his palm before tapping his finger against his skin three times in quick succession.

That’s their way of saying _I love you_ without saying it out loud. They do it to April, too.

Evan leans in to kiss him on the head, then taps him three times back.

*

Amir calls Louis on their drive home, after he’s settled into the deeply reclined passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard.

Evan puts the car in self-drive and half-listens to Amir’s half of the conversation while looking out the driver’s side window at Malibu passing by. They go around a curve of the PCH, and the ocean appears, sprawling out on their right like a vast blue carpet.

“I’m _not_ exerting myself,” Amir exclaims. He takes his earpiece out and taps his watch, putting Louis on speaker. “Evan, tell my dad I’m not exerting myself.”

“He’s not exerting himself,” Evan says obediently.

“Thank you,” Amir says.

“I’m being a bit selfish, honestly,” Louis’ tinny voice says. “I just don’t want you havin’ that baby before I come home.”

“I’m doing my best, I swear.” Amir lolls his head over on the seat and grins at Evan, giving him butterflies in his stomach.

It’s crazy how Amir still gives him butterflies. Evan is more attracted to him when he’s pregnant, too; that internal glow of his seems to brighten, and the edges of him soften. Plus, he looks so happy. Evan would keep him pregnant forever if he could always be this happy.

Evan must have a goofy look on his face, because Amir’s eyes crinkle as his smile grows larger. “I think Evan _li-ikes_ me,” he says aloud.

Louis laughs. “Reckon he might.”

“I plead the fifth,” Evan says.

“What time is it over there anyway, Dad?” Amir says. “Is your day already over?”

“It’s like six at night, but not yet,” Louis says. “We’ve got the opening ceremony tonight, Sunday’s off gettin’ prepared for it right now. We’re just at the hotel, waiting to get told we can head over to the _Stade de France_ ,” he says, adopting a bad French accent. “Liam’s been fixing his hair for an hour ‘cos he thinks we’re gonna get photographed loads.”

“Stop it,” Liam calls in the background. “I’m just having a bad hair day, is all.”

“Where’s Mia?” Amir says, sounding forlorn.

“She’s around,” Louis says. “She’s been with the boys the whole trip, getting into mischief with them. Aya’s not joining us ‘til tomorrow, and I think Mims is sort of glad to get the time away from her — not in a bad way, just, y’know.”

“Aya’s very proper and mature,” Amir says.

“Exactly. There’s only so long she can keep that up before she needs to blow off steam. Evan,” Louis says, “how are you, mate? How’s the hand?”

Evan looks down at his hand and flexes it. “It’s feeling alright,” he says. “They say I have, uh, neurapraxia, I think? But it’s supposed to be almost completely healed at this point. I got bit like two months ago, now.”

He vividly remembers the moment of the bite. He had gone down to Pacific Grove to help local police round up a mountain lion that got into a woman’s yard, and Animal Control took forever to meet him at the location, then took forever getting set up to tranq the lion. It was seven at night before they even got into position, and Evan was exhausted after a long day, wanting to get home to Amir and April.

Finally, an officer fired two rounds of tranquilizer into the mountain lion’s ass, and Evan, impatient, made a move toward the animal. In a last ditch attempt to escape, the lion rushed him, and out of sheer instinct, Evan put his hand up. The mountain lion managed to sink its teeth into that same hand a half-second before it lost consciousness and slumped into a big lump on the ground, while Evan stood there screaming in pain like an idiot.

All things considered, it could have been worse. Afterward, he mostly felt guilty, because pregnant Amir had to gather up their fussy toddler and rush over to the hospital to sit with him while he got a rabies vaccine and enough antibiotics to choke a horse. Then Amir had to take care of him for a few weeks after, as dominant right hand was stiff, painful, and wrapped in several layers of gauze. By the time Amir turned to him in July and said, “Should we go live with my dad and Harry again, until the baby comes?” Evan didn’t even have to think about it before replying, “Yes.”

“Can’t believe it’s been two months,” Louis says. “I feel like that happened last week. I still remember Amir calling me up crying, and me trying to figure out what the fuck he was trying to say. I honestly thought a mountain lion ate you.”

“I felt like it did,” Evan says, laughing. That was how he and Amir referred to the incident in the days after, in fact. ‘ _Remember how you got eaten by a mountain lion last week_?’ et cetera.

“How’s April?” Louis says, switching tracks.

“She’s great,” Amir says. “We left her with Harry for the morning.”

“Mmm. And how is Harold?”

“He’s good,” Amir says, before adding: “I mean, he’s been driving me fucking insane.”

Louis laughs. “I sort of expected that might happen.”

“He wants me to do a photoshoot,” Amir says with an eye roll. “Like just in the backyard, with one of his Gucci photographers.”

Evan glances over at him. “I didn’t know about this.”

“‘Cos I knew you’d want me to do it,” Amir says. “And I don’t want to do it.”

“It might be nice to have photos, though,” Evan says. “Especially if this is our last baby.”

“Who said this is our last baby?” Amir says.

Evan blinks at him, hard, and clears his throat. “Is this… is this not our last baby?”

“Y’know, I don’t think I need to be on the line for this discussion,” Louis puts in.

Amir ignores his father. “I’m gonna have thirty of your babies,” he informs Evan.

Evan laughs. “That’s a few too many, dude.”

“Okay, three, then.”

“That’s… we can talk about three,” Evan says, relenting.

He’s torn between his desire to live his life in a normal, reasonable, actionable way, and his desire to do absolutely whatever it takes to make Amir happy. Unfortunately, no matter how much Amir flirts with him and flashes his megawatt superstar smile, he’s never going to be able to make Evan forget the feeling of getting a phone call from the police letting him know that his husband had walked into traffic while holding their newborn baby and almost killed them both. That memory is seared into Evan’s brain like a brand on a cow.

“How’s Zayn?” Louis says, doing that thing that he does whenever he talks about Zayn, where he tries and fails to sound cool and uninterested.

“He’s good,” Amir says. “Him and Harry are having like, teenage daughter problems.”

“I’ve heard,” Louis says. “I don’t miss those days… raising teenagers. You lot put me through hell.”

“Sorry,” Amir says, grinning at Evan again. “Evan’s partly at fault.”

“No, I’m not,” Evan says, offended.

“Yeah, you were. You were a hellion, you gave me my first drink.”

“You did what?” Louis’ voice rings out over the phone before he starts laughing. “I never knew this.”

“I had a sister who was like eight years older than me!” Evan exclaims in his defense. “So, yeah, I started drinking when I was fourteen, and Amir _begged_ me to give him alcohol, so I did.”

“Amir, what were you doing begging for alcohol at fourteen?” Louis says, still sounding amused.

“Please, like Mia wasn’t drinking at that age,” Amir says. “We were bored rich kids, Dad, this is what happens.”

“I’m appalled,” Louis says. “Totally unsurprised, but appalled all the same. Listen, Mims actually just texted me, we’ve got to go meet them downstairs. So I’ll let you know how tonight goes, and text me that video from your scan, yeah? Send it into the groupchat with me and your dad.”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too. Laters.”

Amir hangs up and looks over at Evan, still smiling at him, bringing his hands to his middle. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Evan says.

“The baby wants to eat tacos,” Amir says. “Birria tacos.”

“Oh, the _baby_ wants to eat tacos, huh? At ten in the morning?”

“Yes! Hey, you can feed me tacos, asshole, you owe me that much.”

Evan starts laughing and turns to the dashboard so he can program a taco spot into the GPS. “I swear to God, Amir…”

“We should get some for my dad and Toni, too,” Amir adds. “Harry and Lena won’t want any, but my dad loves tacos. Birria tacos especially.”

“Who’s paying for these tacos? You got taco money?”

Amir reaches into his pocket and wordlessly hands Evan his Amex Platinum.

*

When they get back, they find Zayn in the living room of the big house, watching TV. As Amir expected, he’s very happy about the taco delivery.

“Oi,” he says in delight when Amir hands him a bag from their favorite Mexican restaurant. “Thanks. This is perfect, I haven’t had breakfast.”

“Where’s April?” Evan says.

“Down the beach with Harry,” Zayn says, muting the TV. “Good luck gettin’ her back, you know how Harry is.”

“Well, where’s Toni?” Amir says. “We got tacos for her, too.”

“Down the road at her friend’s place. She’ll eat ‘em later, don’t worry.”

Amir settles down on the couch beside Zayn, watching with jealousy as Zayn pulls out a clamshell container and lays it on the coffee table in front of him. He scarfed down two tacos in the car, but the baby is pressing on his stomach, and he has heartburn again, so that was all he could manage. Despite that, though, he’s still hungry, he just can’t eat.

Evan settles down in an easy chair and takes the box that has CHICKEN written across the top in Sharpie. “Doesn’t Harry not like people eating in here?”

“Don’t tell him we ate in here, then,” Zayn says, downing half of a taco. “Shit, these are good.” He takes a sip of water and turns to Amir. “So, you alright? What’d the doctor have to say?”

Amir shrugs. “Nothing new. Just, like, stay off your feet, try not to have the baby yet… Like I have control over that.”

“You have control over staying off your feet,” Zayn says, and eats the other half of his taco.

“I guess. I haven’t really been on them, though.”

Zayn wipes his hands on some of the thin little napkins the restaurant provided, then reaches out to idly rub Amir’s stomach like he’s a Buddha. “I think my sisters are right,” he says. “I think it’s a boy.”

“But what is it that makes you guys think that?” Amir says. “Like, what is this boy vibe you’re picking up on? ‘Cos I don’t have a clue either way.”

Zayn shrugs. “Just intuition. It’s a healthy baby either way, _inshallah_ , doesn’t matter what it is.” He smiles fondly at Amir. “You remind me of Louis when you’re pregnant, have I told you that? That’s when I most see the resemblance between you two.”

Amir smiles back, touched. “Is that a good thing?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, it’s shit, I hate your dad. ‘Course it’s a good thing! Christ.” He pats Amir on the tummy and goes back to eating his tacos.

Evan starts eating his own tacos, so Amir is just left sitting there, hungry, listening to the two of them chew. He’d get up, but he’s too tired to; he’s already had enough moving around for today.

Luckily, Harry interrupts them by coming into the room with April in his arms. She sees Amir and starts wriggling in Harry’s grasp, shouting, “Daddy!”

Harry comes over and delivers her to him, and Amir hugs her close. “Hi baby,” he says. She snuggles into his chest, babbling happily.

“Tacos?” Harry says to Zayn, then checks his watch. “At eleven in the morning? In my otherwise pristine sitting room, that’s full of art and white furniture?”

Zayn flicks his wrist at him dismissively, and Harry laughs.

“Your daughter tried to bolt into the ocean,” he says to Amir. “I had to hold her back.”

Amir gasps at April. “You can’t go in the ocean!”

“I can go for a swim,” April says confidently, reaching up to tug on Amir’s septum piercing as she often does.

Amir intercepts her hand before it can reach his face. “You can’t do that, you’re too little,” he says, signing _little._

“No, I’m big.”

“Noo,” Amir coos, rubbing his nose against hers. “You’re a baby.”

“No,” April giggles.

He kisses her on the head. She smells like baby powder. “Say the thing I taught you.”

“If Young Metwo don’t trust you,” April recites, signing as she speaks, “I’m gonna shoot you.”

“Good girl,” Amir says, smiling.

Harry stands at the edge of the couch, watching this interaction in a kind of pained amusement. Amir likes to tweak him by pretending to be a terrible chaos muppet of a dad — it makes him laugh, and it makes Harry’s baseline vibe of disapproval easier to deal with. If he’s misbehaving on purpose, then he can’t be hurt by critical appraisals of his misbehavior.

He knows Harry doesn’t really think he’s a bad dad, but Amir knows he doesn’t think he’s a fantastic one, either. He’s made too many mistakes, fucked up too many times, been too cavalier about the whole thing — especially in comparison to Harry, for whom having children was a long, bloody, traumatic project. Harry acts like he went to war to have his kids, and it’s pretty obvious that he thinks all Amir did was spread his legs for Evan in between stumbling into and out of a cocaine hole.

April is now pressing on Amir’s stomach with both of her little hands, her brow furrowed. “Squishy,” she says.

“It’s squishy?” Amir says, signing _squishy_. “Well, there’s water in there.”

“It’s a _baby_ ,” April says, like he’s an idiot.

“Yeah, but the baby’s floating in water.”

“No, ‘cos, ‘cos, when I go under the water,” April says, now flustered and signing at light speed as she talks, “when I go swim, you can’t — I can’t stay in the water. I can’t breave.”

“Right.”

“So — baby can’t breave,” April says, like, ‘ _duh_.’

“It breathes water,” Amir assures her. “You did too, when you were in my tummy. That’s what babies do, until they come out. Then they breathe air.”

April looks confused and horrified by this.

“Here,” Amir says, taking her hand. “Stop pushing on me and feel. Feel the movements? The baby wouldn’t be able to move if it couldn’t breathe. It gets oxygen from me, ‘cos it’s inside me. So when I breathe, it breathes.”

“When you breaves, you breaves,” April repeats.

“No,” Amir says, laughing. “When I breathe, baby breathes.”

April points to herself. “When I breave, baby breave.”

“Uh… close enough.”

“She’s very well-spoken,” Harry remarks. “The girls weren’t talking in sentences nearly that long at her age.”

“I think it’s from all the speech therapy,” Evan says, finally rousing from his taco coma and sitting up. “Oh, shit. Man. Why am I so tired all of a sudden?”

“Because you just ate six tacos,” Harry says. “So I’m guessing no one wants to go for a run with me?”

“What are you doing going on a run, anyway?” Zayn says. “I thought you pulled a hamstring.”

“Yeah, a week ago,” Harry says. “I’m back to it, now. I’ll go find Lena, she’ll come with me.”

“You feed her, if you’re working out with her,” Zayn calls after Harry’s retreating back as he heads out of the living room. “Make her eat some pancakes or something.”

Harry gives him a thumbs up without turning around.

Zayn lets out a wearied sigh, then turns to April. “C’mere,” he says, extending his arms to her. She falls into them, giggling, and he strokes her blonde hair and kisses her on the head. “You’ll eat pancakes, won’t you?”

“Yes,” April chirps.

Zayn kisses her again. “Do you love your Boppa?”

“Yes,” she says, giggling some more. Zayn starts to tickle her, making her shriek and wiggle.

*

Amir doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep in the recording studio until Toni wakes him up by shaking his arm. He jerks upright in the rolly chair he’s sitting in, making a startled noise, then rubs his eyes and blinks.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters. “I need my sleep.”

“It’s _noon_ ,” Toni says, taking a seat beside him in the other rolly chair and scooting forward to the console.

“I’m a dad,” Amir says. “Dads fall asleep in chairs, it’s what we do.” He saves the Audacity file he has open on the iMac, then closes it. “What’s up? Why are you bugging me?”

“I just got my ancestry results,” Toni says in a hushed voice, tucking a braid behind her ear.

“Shit,” Amir says.

“Yeah.”

“Will you look at them with me?” Toni says, her dark eyes shining.

Amir nods. “But after we do, you have to tell your dads,” he says. “Otherwise I will. I can’t keep keeping this a secret.”

“I know, I know.”

Toni leans over Amir and opens up an incognito browser tab on the computer, then goes to her email. Amir sits in anxious silence, touching his stomach to comfort himself, feeling the fluttering movements under his fingers.

No one is going to take your baby, he tells himself, and tries to take a deep breath.

Toni got her ancestry results from some service that Amir isn’t familiar with, although he’s seen commercials for it: it’s called _Mitochondrial Eve._ She inhales sharply as the landing page for the website pops up, saying, WELCOME TONI. “I’m scared. Can you click for me?”

Amir nods. “Sure.”

She points to the screen. “Can you open the ancestry tab, first?”

“Yeah.”

Amir reaches up and taps the touchscreen, selecting the tab. The page loads almost instantly, sprawling out a pie chart on the right and a demarcated list of ancestries on the left.

Toni is covering her eyes, now.

“You want me to read it for you?” he says.

She laughs. “Yes, please.”

“Okay. Um… you’re sixty-five percent European.”

“ _Sixty-five_?” She lifts her head, half-covering her eyes with her hand. “That sounds too high, are you sure?”

“That’s what it says,” Amir says, indicating the screen. “I mean, genetics are weird, being mixed is weird. Me and Marlena have the same genetics, basically, but I’m darker…”

“That’s true,” Toni says, but she still looks perturbed. “What’s the rest?”

“You’re thirty-two percent Sub-Saharan African,” Amir says. “You’re like, equal parts Ghanian, Liberian and Angolan.”

Toni nods, then peeks over her hand a little. “Sixty-five plus thirty-two doesn’t add up to a hundred.”

Amir points to a small sliver of the pie chart. “You’re also three percent Native American.”

Toni drops her hand and scoots closer to the screen, staring at it hungrily. “This doesn’t even answer anything, though,” she says. “Who _am_ I?”

Amir reaches up and strokes her back. “You’re Toni.”

“You know what I mean...” Toni clicks on the drop-down for European. A series of percentages pops up: 11% British and Irish, 7% French and German, and 47% Italian.

“I’m so Italian,” she says, sounding stunned.

“You and Sunday,” Amir says, smiling at her.

Toni starts clicking through tabs almost frantically, scanning the pages even faster than Amir can read them.

“So my dad is white and my mom is black,” she says. “And I do have a mom and a dad, not two dads or two moms.”

“Where are you getting all this?” Amir says, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“My haplogroups,” Toni says, sounding impatient. “Look.” She points at the screen, but Amir doesn’t know enough about genealogy to understand what she’s pointing at.

“So your mom is the one who gave birth to you?” he says, squinting.

“Not necessarily,” Toni says. “He’s an omega, and she’s an alpha. See?” She points to another line of text. “They both have the mutation on the SRY gene that makes them make both big and small gametes.”

“Right, sure,” Amir says, casting his brain back in time to AP Bio so he can try to remember how the SRY gene works.

“Do you really not know this stuff?” Toni says. “You’re literally pregnant.”

“I learned about it in school, but I didn’t apply it to myself,” Amir says. “It always felt like this hush-hush thing. The only time someone really talked to me about how all this pertained to me was when I had an abortion.”

“That’s sad. People should know about themselves.”

“So you’ve been researching this a lot?” Amir says, again feeling uneasy that he hasn’t told Harry or Zayn that she sent her DNA off to be tested.

“Yeah,” Toni says. “I wanted to know.” She moves the mouse over to the tab that says FAMILIAL CONNECTIONS, then pauses. “Can you click for me?”

“Yes,” Amir says, and he taps the screen again.

The first person that pops up on her list of connections is a woman whose name displays as Maggie T., who shares 25% ancestry with Toni— far more than anyone else on the website.

Amir glances over at Toni, whose face is shining with disbelief.

“Twenty-five percent is a half-sibling,” he says nervously.

“Oh my God,” Toni says. “It worked. I didn’t think it would work.”

Tears fill her eyes; Amir rubs her back harder.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “Not until you’re ready. We can take a step back and regroup, and talk to your dads about it.”

“No,” Toni says. “They’d just get mad, and we’ve gotten this far.”

She clicks on Maggie’s profile and hits _Message,_ then begins to type, her hands shaking. Amir watches words fill the box on the screen.

_Hi Maggie. My name is Toni and I just turned seventeen. I was born on July 2nd in 2027. I think we’re half siblings. I was abandoned at birth and adopted, and I don’t know anything about my birth family. Can you help me?_

Amir is expecting Toni to ask him to hit send for her, but she does it herself, seeming emboldened. Then she takes a long, hiccupy breath.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s it... it’s out of my hands.”

“Tones,” Amir says, his heart aching for her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Toni wipes her eyes. “Let’s have a jam session. I need to not think about this for a while.”

“Okay.”

Toni gets up from her chair and extends a hand to help up Amir. As she does, the computer dings. They both turn to look at it.

Maggie has responded already.

 _I swear I stopped breathing when I saw this notification_ , the message reads, and then Maggie starts to type again. Toni sits back down, lightning-fast.

After twenty seconds that feel more like twenty minutes, she sends a second message: _My mom has been looking for you for years. She was starting to think she’d never find you. Please text me 310-555-3494_

“Holy shit,” Amir says.

“310,” Toni says, rounding on him. “That’s an L.A. area code. That’s the area code half of my friends have!”

Amir nods. “I mean, you were abandoned in L.A.…”

“I know, but I never thought I had family in the same city I grew up in.” Toni shakes her head. “This is crazy,” she chokes out. “My birth mom has been looking for me? For years? Then why did I get left at a fucking fire station? Why couldn’t my parents ever find my birth family? I know they looked, I know Dad hired a PI. I went through his phone once when I was younger, and I saw him talking about it.”

Amir strokes her back again, squeezing her shoulder. “Toni, I’m so sorry. I never knew you thought about this so much.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Toni exclaims.

“I guess I would, yeah.”

“I’m texting her,” Toni says, raising her watch to the screen and scanning the number in Maggie’s message. ADD CONTACT FOR Maggie T.? pops up on the screen automatically; she hits _Confirm_. “And I’m gonna find my mom. And I’m gonna find out what the fuck is going on.”

“Toni, we really have to tell your parents about this.”

“Don’t. Please. Look, I’m almost an adult.”

“But you aren’t one,” Amir says. “I thought I was an adult when I was seventeen, and I did nothing but fuck stuff up, okay? I know you’re afraid they’re gonna be mad, and yeah, they will be, but —”

“It’s not just that,” Toni says. “They’re gonna interfere. _Dad_ will interfere.” He knows she means Harry. “He’ll pretend to be understanding and relaxed and chill about it, and then he’ll run ten thousand background checks on my family and send a forty-foot tall bodyguard with me to meet my mom, and the paps will realize something’s up, and they’ll take photos of us, and it’ll scare her off and fuck up everything. Everything Dad touches turns into a spectacle, nothing can just be normal.”

Amir lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“You know how it is,” Toni says, gazing at Amir. “Dad pulled you into his world, and it almost ruined your life.”

“That wasn’t your dad’s fault,” Amir says softly.

“He’s too famous,” Toni says. It’s clear that everything she’s saying has been weighing on her for years. “It’s like... flesh eating bacteria, or something, it eats everything, it screws everything up. It’s stealing Lena from me and turning her into a Barbie doll, it turned you into a drug addict, it stresses Baba out and makes him and Dad fight. I can’t let it get me, too.”

“You know how much Harry loves you, right?” Amir is wracked with guilt, knowing Harry has no idea that Toni feels this way. Toni, who he prayed for and fought for, who he named Toni Anne after his mom. “It would kill him if he knew you felt like this.”

“I know,” Toni says, her eyes welling again. “I do. I think about that all the time, and I feel so guilty about it. I love him, too. But this isn’t about him, it’s about me. So either you can help me, or I’ll do it on my own.”

Amir wipes her tears away. “You know, you remind me a lot of Mia, sometimes,” he says.

Toni smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’ll help you meet Maggie, if that’s what you really want,” Amir says, in the stern voice he uses with April. “But then you have to tell them, okay? I can tell them for you, if you want, but we have to tell them what’s going on.”

“Okay,” Toni says. “I swear. Just let me find out where I came from, and then I’ll tell them.”

Amir offers his pinky to her, and she pinky promises him.

*

Harry is depressed, by Zayn’s estimation.

It took him some time to figure this out, because Harry masks depression very well, but he’s been depressed ever since his birthday. It’s like he’s descended into a funk with no exit, because to exit would require Harry accepting the concepts of old age and death, which requires, on a base level, giving up. And Harry isn’t good at giving up.

Despite the fact that Harry has grown to become about twice as neurotic and anal-retentive as usual in the last few months, Zayn has been trying to respond to this behavior with patience and kindness, when he can manage it. He’s been working on music again lately, and Toni and Marlena are both mired in angst, and Amir and Evan being here is distracting. So Zayn is probably not operating at 100% husband power. He’s trying, though. As much as Harry is resisting being cared for right now, Zayn is doing his best to care for him anyway.

Zayn finds him on the pool deck that afternoon, looking out over the beach, where Evan and April are playing in the sand. Marlena is down there too, tanning on a towel. Amir and Toni are upstairs in the studio. Harry is just lying there alone in a chaise, a damp washcloth over his eyes, sprawled out like a murder victim.

“Hi,” Zayn says as he walks up to him.

“Hi,” Harry sighs, removing the washcloth.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. My hamstring hurts again.”

“Er, yeah, exercising on a pulled muscle will do that,” Zayn says, perching on the chaise beside Harry’s hip and handing him a tall glass full of iced matcha latte.

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking a sip.

Zayn leans in and gives him a kiss on his damp forehead. “I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“What?”

“I feel like we ought to go on a trip,” Zayn says. “Just the four of us, before the girls start school again.”

“Your son is about to have a baby,” Harry points out.

“Eh, yeah, we’d go after he has the baby. Isn’t he gonna have it any day now?”

“It could be another entire month,” Harry says.

“Louis’ll be back from France by then, either way,” Zayn says. “He can take care of him. ‘E just needs watched so he doesn’t relapse, that’s all.”

“I think you just want to get out of helping take care of a newborn,” Harry says, smiling in amusement.

“Well, can you blame me? Haven’t I taken care of enough babies in my life?”

“I’d like to meet your new grandbaby, though,” Harry says. “Who knows when I’ll have grandbabies of my own… maybe I’ll be dead by then.”

“Shut it. You’re gonna outlive us all.”

Harry takes another sip of his matcha.

“I just think we need to get away, the four of us,” Zayn says, watching Harry’s face. “Reconnect as a family, y’know what I mean? I feel so far away from the three of you this summer. I hate that.”

“We’re all just going through some things,” Harry says. “Some parallel identity crises. It happens.”

“We’ve only got a little bit of time left with the girls living at home,” Zayn says. “I want to enjoy it, not have all this strife.”

Harry reaches up and strokes Zayn’s hair. “We can all bond over the new baby,” he offers.

“That’s Amir and Evan’s baby, not our baby,” Zayn says.

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying… you know how Amir is. Soon as Louis and Mia come back, he’ll run to them, then he’ll run away to Monterey with Evan, or whatever. ‘E’s got itchy feet, and he’s got his own life.”

“I know,” Harry says, but he looks sad.

“Y’know, we could adopt another baby,” Zayn says gently, even though he hopes to God that Harry will shoot this down. “We’re not ancient.”

Harry laughs. “You’re cute.”

“So that’s a no?”

“It isn’t even that I want a baby,” Harry says. “I dunno what I want, and that’s the problem. I’ve just got this restless, empty feeling… this has been the longest summer of my life, and I have no idea why.”

“Work on a project,” Zayn suggests.

“There’s nothing to work on,” Harry says. “I haven’t read a script I’ve loved in ages. I’ve got no music ideas, no fashion ideas. Doing things with One Direction feels like brushing my teeth, or something, it’s just printing money at this point. I’m so bored, everything bores me.”

Zayn smiles at him. “You’re a little depressed.”

“I know that,” Harry says, sounding irritated. “Why do you think I’m lying out here in the sun in the middle of the day? I’m trying to get Vitamin D.”

“Love, I don’t think you’re depressed for any physical reasons, you’re the healthiest person I know. I think you’re just having a hard time ‘cos you’re in a transitional phase of life.”

“But what do I do about that?” Harry says. “Just suffer through it?”

“Yes,” Zayn says.

Harry lets out a sigh that hitches in despair at the end. “The last time I felt like this, I was married to Angelos,” he says. “So there was a reason for being unhappy… I was in an unhappy marriage, and I loved you, and I was afraid to be with you. And then I ran away to you, and you took me back, and you held my hand through all the awful press I got. But I was happy again, ‘cos we were together.”

“Are you not happy with me anymore?” Zayn says, laughing.

Harry gives him a lazy smile. “No, that’s what I’m saying — when I was unhappy before, it was external. Now the call’s coming from inside the house. I don’t like that.”

“I know.”

“I’m not an unhappy person.”

“Look, how’s this? We’ll stay in town a week for after the baby’s born, and then we’ll ship Amir off to be with Lou. You, me, Toni, Lena, we’ll go to Courchevel or summat ‘til their school year starts back up. I’ll take you on a date every night we’re there. We can even do that thing you like, where we pretend we’re strangers. You can get drunk as piss and I’ll tuck you into bed. Sound good?”

Harry nods.

“Good,” Zayn says. “Drink your matcha.”

*

Amir doesn’t tell Evan about the stuff with Toni. He tells himself that it’s because when Zayn finds out, he’s going to ask Amir if Evan knew about this, and it’s better for Evan if Amir can truthfully answer ‘no’. But really, it’s because he knows Evan wouldn’t be okay with what Amir is doing.

Amir himself is barely okay with what he’s doing, he just can’t bring himself to snitch on Toni. The only good time to snitch would have been right after she told him she ordered an ancestry kit, but it’s too late now. It would come as such a betrayal to her.

Plus, Amir has his own motivations. He feels a kinship with Toni’s situation in only the way that someone who’s afraid of having their kids taken by the state would feel. Zayn and Harry don’t know what it’s like to have a record with CPS, to have people constantly questioning your fitness. Zayn may be an addict, and Harry may have dealt with pregnancy loss, but they don’t get what Amir has been through.

When he and Evan go to bed that night, they snuggle up together as usual, listening to April’s soft breathing on the baby monitor.

“I love you,” Amir murmurs, drawing circles on Evan’s chest.

“I love you too,” Evan says, sounding sleepy. He strokes Amir’s shoulder with his thumb.

THE 16TH ARRONDISSEMENT OF PARIS, AUGUST 5, 2044

As the traveling reserve, dressage is the only event that Sunday is supposed to compete in, and her score will only be counted if it’s better than any of her teammates' scores, which she isn’t expecting it will be.

For these reasons, Mia was not anticipating that the morning of the dressage round to be terribly stressful, but somehow it is anyway. Aya meets them at the stables around 7 a.m., and she, Mia, Patrick and Max sit huddled in a corner next to a pile of hay bales, exhausted from hangovers and jet lag, clutching iced coffees in their hands, watching a vortex of chaos swirl around them. Olympians, trainers, grooms, coaches, vets, Sunday, Julio, Clive — everyone is rushing around like they’re getting ready for D-Day.

Louis and Liam have been conscripted to go back to the hotel to try to find Sunday’s missing lucky stock pin, which she’s convinced will be the deciding factor in how well she does today. While she waits for them to get back, Sunday sits slumped over in a folding chair across from Ulysses’ stall, half-dressed in her monkey suit, while Julio rubs her shoulders and neck. Inside the stall, one of her trainers is giving Ulysses a massage to get his muscles warmed up.

Next to Mia, Patrick lets out a theatrical yawn.

“Stop,” Mia says, elbowing him.

“What, I’m not allowed to _yawn_?” Patrick says. “I’m tired.”

“We’re all tired. Suck it up.”

Aya laughs. “Let him yawn. He’s a teenager.”

“Hey, I’m almost twenty,” Patrick protests.

“ _We_ ,” Max says, “will be twenty in… uh…” He starts counting on his fingers. “Eight months.”

“Potato potato,” Patrick says, without pronouncing ‘potato’ differently either time.

“Where is my pin,” Sunday moans into her hands.

They all look over at her.

“Sunday, you don’t need a lucky pin,” Mia says. “You’re an Olympic athlete. You’re here because you deserve to be, not ‘cos of a pin. Tons of people have lucky stuff, I have lucky underwear. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You have lucky what?” Patrick interrupts.

“It’s not that weird, I have game day socks,” Max says, and then he yawns. “Shit, Paddy, you made me yawn.”

“I’d just feel better if I had the pin,” Sunday says, and Julio laughs, continuing to rub her neck.

Another parade of people comes through the aisle of the barn, leading a very fancy-looking chestnut horse that’s draped in a silk green cool-out sheet. Patrick shrinks back as it goes by.

“Hi Vicky,” Sunday calls to the woman dressed in riding clothes, who’s walking a short distance behind the horse.

Vicky, who Mia vaguely recognizes as being one of the Land Rover team members, turns and gives Sunday a thumbs up. “How we feeling?”

“Horrible,” Sunday says. “Like I’m going to barf.”

Vicky laughs. “Yeah, I felt the same way at my first Games. It’ll pass,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.

“Thanks,” Sunday calls after her.

“We’re back,” Mia hears her father shout.

“Oh, thank God,” Sunday says. “Do you have it?”

Louis and Liam appear around the edge of the massive stack of hay bales.

“We do,” Louis says, going to Sunday and handing her the pin like it’s a priceless diamond. “Your dad’s proper good at finding things.”

“‘Cos you lose things all the time, and I’ve spent thirty years looking for your shit,” Liam says. Louis elbows him.

Aya rises elegantly to her feet, brushing hay off of her skirt. “Should those of us who are spectating maybe head over to the venue?” she says. “Just so we can get settled in. I’m sure Sunday’s about to be busy.”

“Probably a good idea,” Louis says. “You alright if we head out, Sunday?”

Sunday nods.

“Alright.” He musses her hair, then kisses her on the head. “Break a leg. You’ll be brilliant. Niall says good luck, by the way, he just texted.”

“Tell him thanks,” Sunday says.

“Think positive thoughts,” Liam tells her. “Love you.”

Sunday, who is a shade of light green, nods.

“Remember,” Patrick says with an authoritative air, “the worst it can do is kill you.”

Liam and Louis look appalled, but Sunday starts laughing.

“No one’s _killing_ her!” Liam exclaims. “It’s dressage!”

“No, that’s actually helpful,” Sunday says. “Thanks Paddy.”

Max seemingly has no words of comfort, but goes over to Sunday and hands her a dandelion, which makes her smile.

*

Liam and Louis went all out for their spectator experience, renting a luxury skybox that overlooks the sandy beige expanse of the dressage ring at the _Bois de Boulogne_ , while the craggy skyline of Paris itself looms over them from the west.

“Don’t drink all the champagne, you animals, it’s eight in the morning,” Louis says to them as soon as they arrive at the box and start taking off their shoes and sunglasses. Liam goes over to the window of the skybox and throws open the curtains, revealing the stadium. “And by animals, I mean my children. Aya, please help yourself to the champagne.”

“Oh, it’s way too early for champagne for me, but thank you,” Aya says.

“I’m gonna have a mimosa, personally,” Louis says. “I think it’s not too early for champagne if it’s got orange juice in, and we’re watching sports.”

“I’m fine, really,” Aya says.

“We also have caviar,” Liam says.

“Well, I won’t turn down caviar,” she says, smiling.

A door opens, and a fleet of caterers appears, wheeling a cart laden with chafing dishes and draped with thick white linen. Max and Patrick go over to the couch and settle down on it, bickering good-naturedly about something, and Mia goes over to the window to look out at the stadium.

There aren’t as many people in the stands as she expected, but it’s still a good number of people. It’s a sunny day, and the people in the cheap seats are either wearing sunglasses, hats, or holding something over their eyes. Mia feels a moment of relief at being spoiled enough to be up here in the skybox, then gets guilty about it.

Aya comes over to her and stuffs a caviar-laden cracker in Mia’s mouth. Aya never feels guilty about enjoying Mia’s parents’ wealth and fame. Why should she? She didn’t grow up with it. She had a different kind of privilege — being a diplobrat. When Mia goes out to dinner in D.C. with Aya, her moms and her brother Sufjan, politicians come over to the table to say hi to them. This makes Mia starstruck, and Aya embarrassed. It’s the same thing, just reversed.

“That’s good caviar,” Mia says, after swallowing. She points down to the stadium. “I think the person going right now is doing their freestyle to a Harry song,” she says. “Hear that?”

Max and Patrick continue arguing, ignoring her, but Liam and Louis look up, squinting.

“Reckon you’re right,” Liam says. “That reminds me…” He claps his hands. “We’re supposed to get better sound in here. The mic system’s supposed to be piped in through the overhead speakers so we can hear the commentators and announcers. One sec.”

He pushes a Bluetooth-enabling button on the wall, and suddenly the air is filled with ear-splitting amounts of Harry’s voice underneath a bass track and the sound of an Australian dressage commentator saying, “Lovely movement from this pair, just lovely...”

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes, frantically waving his watch at the ceiling until the volume starts to lower. “Jesus.”

Aya wraps her arms around Mia’s waist and hangs onto her while Mia stares out over the stadium, watching the small figure of a horse and rider dance around the sand ring. She can’t help wishing Amir were here.

“Where’s Sunday’s mom gonna be?” she says, turning to Liam. “We’re not sharing a box with her, are we?”

“God no,” Louis answers for him.

Patrick and Max both turn to their parents in curiosity. Liam looks like he’s weighing his words.

“No,” he finally says. “I dunno where she is. We haven’t spoken since the other night.”

“Yeah, what was up with the other night?” Patrick says. “Why were you guys having coffee so late?”

Max folds his arms, trying to look nonchalant, but he’s clearly curious.

“Look, I haven’t had the chance to discuss what we talked about with Sunday yet, so I’d rather not,” Liam says, looking uneasy.

“Is everything okay?” Mia says. “Is Ceci dying again?”

“No,” Liam says. “It’s nothing bad.”

“Then why can’t we know?” Patrick says. “We’re her brothers. You don’t get to keep, like, family secrets from your original family.”

Louis snorts, and Liam defensively says, “That’s not what’s going on.”

“Does it affect us?” Max says.

“Not really,” Liam says, at the same time Louis says, “Sort of.”

Liam shoots him a look, and Louis shrugs. “I’m just thinkin’ in terms of, like, after we’re gone,” he says.

“What?” Patrick exclaims.

“No, that’s not — it’s a money thing, that’s all,” Louis says.

“Louis!” Liam exclaims.

“Sunday’s mum wants to give her fifty million dollars,” Louis blurts out, then goes over to the drinks cart and starts pouring himself a glass of champagne.

_“Louis!”_

“ _How_ many dollars?” Patrick says.

“Fifty million,” Louis repeats, then sips his champagne.

“Holy shit,” Mia says. “Why?”

“Ceci got an inheritance from her father,” Liam says shortly. “I’d really like to discuss this with Sunday first, for obvious reasons. I just didn’t want to distract her from the Olympics.”

“We’ll keep it a secret, Dad, don’t worry,” Max says.

“Thanks,” Liam says, shooting a mutinous look at Louis, who smiles innocently at him.

“Am _I_ going to get a fifty million dollar inheritance someday?” Patrick says.

“Absolutely not,” Louis says. “I’ve got dozens of people in me will, and I’m leavin’ half of it to charity, anyway.”

“Nor from me,” Liam says apologetically.

“You’ll have to make your own fifty million, love,” Louis says.

“Alright,” Patrick says, like he’s up for the challenge.

“A little gauche to talk about this in front of company, don’t you think, Dad?” Mia says.

Aya digs her fingers into Mia’s waist, laughing. “I don’t mind…”

“It’s okay,” Louis says. “Aya’s as good as family, anyway. Also, I’ve got no manners. Sorry, Aya.”

“No need,” Aya says.

“It’s not _our_ fifty million, anyway,” Liam says, taking the champagne bottle from Louis and pouring his own glass. “So we can be gauche about it.”

“Fair enough,” Mia says.

Fifty million is a staggering number to her. She knows what her parents’ wealth amounts to in total, but that isn’t the same as someone offering to cut you a check for about a fifth of that amount in liquid cash. Mia wouldn’t begin to know what to do with that, and Sunday’s even less materialistic than she is.

An hour passes as they wait for Sunday’s turn in the dressage ring. They mill around the box, drinking and eating caviar, then settle down in the plush chairs by the couch. Patrick and Max start holding court, telling stories from their first two years of college; Mia has already heard most of these stories, so she knows when they’re covering their asses in front of their parents by saying something happened to ‘a friend’ when it actually happened to them. Every time they do this, she winks at Patrick, who plays innocent.

When Liam leaves to go take a leak a few minutes before Sunday’s ride, Louis reveals he’s been in on this the whole time — he takes a sip of the beer he opened half an hour ago and says, smirking, “So it was your _friend_ who got stopped by the cops for having ten drunk passengers in his car, Fox?”

“Yup,” Max says, with a straight face.

“Funny, ‘cos like five months back, my car insurance told me they were raising me rates ‘cos one Maximilian Fox Tomlinson-Payne had got a ticket for overloading.”

The blood drains from Max’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“Yes!” Louis says, laughing.

“I thought if I was the one who paid it, you wouldn’t find out.”

“It still hits my insurance, mate. You’re a boy of twenty, your rates are already sky-high to begin with.”

Max, who’s tipsy, collapses back onto the couch with a groan while they all laugh at him. “Fuck, I’m sorry! I was the designated driver that night.”

“That’s what I assumed when I heard about it,” Louis says.

“You never said anything!”

“‘Cos I’ve done dumber shit with a car than have too many people in it,” Louis says. “I know how responsible you are, I figured bein’ stopped was mortifying enough for you.”

“Double standard,” Patrick complains, sipping his own beer. “I would’ve heard about it if _I_ got pulled over.”

“Correct,” Louis says. “‘Cos you’d probably tell the cop to go fuck off back to the donut shop, and then I’d have to pick you up from jail.”

Patrick hiccups. “Whatever. You’ve picked Amir up from jail twice, I can go once.”

Louis, who’s leaning his arm on the arm of the couch beside Patrick, shoots him a look. “I’d rather have no one going at all,” he says, sounding terse.

He’s actually never picked Amir up from jail. Liam was the one who went, that time he got pulled over with Jason and Evan. The second time was in Malibu, so it was Evan and Zayn who went, and the cops didn’t let Amir go until the next morning because of his history of psychosis. They held him for psychiatric evaluation, then sent him to his arraignment so bail could be set. By the time Louis got down there, Amir was already out. At the time, Mia was in Brussels with Aya, who woke up to push alerts and texts about the arrest and asked Mia if she wanted to fly back home to be with her family.

“No,” Mia had said, while resisting a bone-deep urge to say yes. “I think they have everything under control. They don’t need me.”

“Okay,” Aya said in her soft voice. “If you’re sure.”

She wasn’t sure at all, but she knew she couldn’t spend her life rushing to Amir’s side at every sign of trouble, or she’d start to really resent him.

Mia’s just glad for Louis’ sake that he still doesn’t know about the Katarina incident. That can remain her little secret with Liam.

Patrick hiccups again. “I don’t _want_ to go, I’m just saying. Didn’t Amir get arrested back in high school ‘cos he yelled at a cop?”

“He just backtalked one,” Louis says. “And he didn’t technically get arrested, and the cop deserved it. _And_ you two get that from me. But don’t fuckin’ do it, is my point. It’s stupid. Take after Payno, he’s nice to policemen.”

Liam, who’s coming back in as Louis says this, replies, “Am I?” as the door to the box swings shut behind him. He comes over and settles down in the armchair next to Louis.

“Historically,” Louis says. “Moreso than I am, anyway.”

Liam checks his watch. “Sunday’s on deck,” he says. “Julio just texted me to let me know.”

They all cheer softly, and Louis grabs the remote to turn the sound on the speakers back up. They had muted them to better hear each other, instead of listening to the droning commentators and tinny music.

“Are we gonna watch out of the window?” Mia says, gesturing to it.

“Reckon we’ll actually get a better view on the TV,” Louis says, pointing to the massive plasma on the wall.

“I’m good with the TV,” Patrick says.

“He’s only saying that ‘cos he’s afraid of heights,” Max says, and Patrick hits him for it. Max, in response, draws back his thick forearm threateningly; Patrick winces, and Max reaches up to gently boop him on the nose instead of hitting him back.

“We’re only about a story up, Paddy,” Liam says, going over to the window and peering out. “It’s a gorgeous view. Look, you can see Paris.”

“No thanks, I’ve seen Paris before,” Patrick says, remaining rooted to the couch.

“Next out is Sunday Payne-Marino from the USA,” the Australian announcer says.

Liam lifts his hands and gestures for everyone to shut up. Mia turns back to the window and looks down at the stadium; she sees the tiny figure of Sunday riding Ulysses toward the ring. She’s the only one still looking down, though. Everyone else, including Aya, has turned to the big TV.

Mia fancies herself a bit of a good luck charm for Sunday, so she wants to focus her attention and gaze directly on her, uninterrupted by a screen. It’s a little athlete’s superstition she has.

“Sunday is twenty-seven years of age,” the announcer drones, “riding her eleven-year-old gelding, Ulysses. This is the first Olympic Games for either member of the pair. As the reserve rider, Sunday won’t be competing in the individual final. Her score here in the team grand prix special will only be counted toward her team’s average if it exceeds the score of another rider on the team… otherwise it will be dropped.”

“So not too much pressure,” the British announcer jokes. “Not a bad deal, at your first Games.”

“Yes, and we spoke to Sunday earlier, she seemed quite calm, with a steely look in her eye. She earned her spot on this team after a brilliant qualifying run at the World Equestrian Games in 2042. That was an awful day to compete — it was raining buckets, and the cross country course was extremely difficult, I think there were about twelve falls that day, and she went double clear. She’s now ranked forty-six in FEI’s world eventer rankings…”

They all cheer quietly. Mia glances behind her at Liam, who’s beaming with pride; he notices her gaze and shoots her a wink.

“Coming into the ring now,” the Australian announcer continues. Mia watches as Ulysses prances into the soft sand of the ring. “Dressage is not this pair’s strong suit, but they usually make a good showing… This is a very technical test, so we’ll see how they fare.”

Mia must be tensing up in apprehension while watching Sunday, because Aya starts to rub her shoulders. She makes a conscious effort to relax.

“Ulysses is by Jaeger, out of _Una Buena Noche_ , an interesting combination of show jumper and racehorse,” the British announcer says. “This comes in handy for the pair on the cross country course… I don’t believe this horse has ever had a time fault.”

“What d’you reckon that accent is?” Louis says.

“Brummie,” Liam says immediately.

“Really? I can’t quite hear it.”

“He’s keeping a tight lid on it, that’s all,” Liam says, and Mia snorts. “Ahh… sorry, I have to get up, I forgot how nervous I get.”

Mia glances over at him; he’s on his feet and pacing, while Louis and the twins watch the TV. Max has his feet up on the couch and his knees pulled to his chest, like a little boy.

Mia looks back out the window and scans the crowd. “I think I see Ceci and John,” she says, spotting a coppery head of hair in the front row, next to a balding head wearing sunglasses.

“Oh,” Liam says, inhaling choppily. “Good. Glad they made it. Sunday wanted them to watch her go.”

“Payno,” Louis says gently, watching him pace, “it’s alright. You can sit down.”

“No, I’ll jinx her...”

The Australian announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers again. “Seven point five on that extended trot, a bit sticky, but we’ll see if she can make it up. Lots of impulsion from this horse, but he seems stiff, particularly in the right fore.”

“Oh no,” Liam says, and he collapses onto the couch between Patrick and Max, burying his face in his hands. “That’s what she was worried about! And we all told her it was fine!”

“Well, what was she gonna do, Liam?” Louis says, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Shoot the horse in the head and get a new one? She was aware of the issue, she did what she could, it’s alright. Anyway, she can always come _back_ to the Olympics, she’s only twenty-seven.”

Mia watches the little figure of the horse and rider move around the ring, tuning out the conversation around her and the announcer’s voice. Even if things aren’t going so well for Sunday, the pair still looks beautiful, like they’re dancing on clouds. Mia hopes that Sunday is having fun, at least. Aya continues rubbing her shoulders, watching from beside her.

She tunes back in when she hears the British announcer go, “Ooh. Low marks for that turn. She’s currently sitting at 74.3 percent, which won’t be enough for her score to be counted, at this rate…”

“Shut up, traitor,” Liam says, and they all laugh.

*

After Sunday’s round, they head downstairs to greet her, escorted by security. They find her standing a few hundred yards from the stadium on a patch of grass under a tree, looking numb and holding Ulysses, who’s grazing. Her grooms and assistants flurry around her, taking the horse’s saddle and bridle off for her and removing her helmet from her head. A BBC cameraman is filming her from about twenty feet back, and as her entourage rolls up, he turns and starts doing the same to them.

“Beat it,” says Hugo, one of the French bodyguards that Louis and Liam hired.

“Please, come on, we’re feeding this back live,” the cameraman begs.

Hugo takes a step toward him, and he scurries off. Louis goes over to Sunday and wraps her up in a hug, patting her back. Sunday lowers her head onto his shoulder.

“74,” she says mournfully. “Even with my lucky pin.”

Liam goes over and joins them in their hug; Max starts idly petting Ulysses on the nose.

“Is that bad?” Aya whispers to Mia.

“I think she wanted sub-73,” Mia whispers back.

“So lower is better?”

“Yeah.”

Julio comes over to them, then, and they pull him into the hug. He pats Sunday on the back. “I’ve seen much worse rides,” he says.

“At the _Olympics_?” Sunday exclaims.

“Yes. And your score won’t count against the team’s.”

Louis draws back from Sunday and cups her face in his hand. “It’s gonna be fine. Take the rest of today to feel sorry for yourself, then get back to it. Stiff upper lip.”

Sunday nods, teary-eyed. Louis kisses her on the forehead.

“Thank you guys for coming,” she says, her voice quavery.

“Are you kidding?” Patrick says. “Thanks for coming to see you compete in _the Olympics?_ Yeah, ‘cos it was such an imposition.”

They all start laughing, and then the twins, Mia and Aya pile into the group hug while Hugo stands a few feet away, scanning for evildoers.

After a moment, they hear someone clearing their throat. Mia turns and sees that Ceci is standing in the grass with John.

“Oh,” Sunday says, sniffing. “Hi Mom.”

“Hi,” Ceci says. She’s wearing massive sunglasses and a floppy, wide-brimmed hat that probably cost as much as Mia’s entire outfit.

Sunday untangles herself from the group hug and goes over to Ceci, looking wary. After a moment she leans in, and they share a tense embrace.

“That was the horse’s fault,” Ceci says, patting her back and letting her go, though Sunday looks like she didn’t quite yet want to be let go of. “You rode fine, but he looked stiff.”

“He is stiff today,” Sunday says quietly. “I’m not sure why.”

“Well, maybe time to think about retiring him and starting a new prospect.”

“Mom, he’s only eleven…”

“I’m just saying,” Ceci says. “Don’t hold onto an animal out of sentiment, and piss away your chances at winning an individual medal someday.” She looks Sunday up and down. “Well, we’re going back to the hotel, we’ll watch the rest of your team go from our room. This bright sun gives me headaches.”

“Okay,” Sunday says, wiping her eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. You did a good job,” Ceci says. “Who knows, maybe someone’s going to fall off tomorrow, and you’ll get to go cross country.”

Sunday chokes out a laugh. “Sure.”

Ceci and John wave goodbye to Sunday, then head back toward the stadium without acknowledging anyone else.

“Wow,” Julio says, once they’re out of earshot. “Sunday, I just realized, I’ve never seen your mother in person before.”

Sunday turns back to them with her lips tucked into her mouth, and nods emphatically.

“She’s intimidating,” Julio says.

“She’s actually been more mellow ever since her brain exploded, if you can believe that,” Louis says.

Patrick wheezes with laughter at this, while Liam looks appalled. “What is your _deal_ today?” he says to Louis.

“Sorry,” Louis says, looking genuinely apologetic. “I’ll rein in the comments.”

“Is that a horse joke?” Mia asks him.

“God no,” Louis says. “You know how I feel about puns.”

Sunday clears her throat. “I have to go find Clive,” she says. “When I was leaving the ring, he said he wanted ‘a chat’ with me, so I’m gonna go find him on the sidelines. Julio, could you—?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” Julio says, handing Ulysses’ leadrope to Liam and going over to her.

The two of them walk away, deep in conversation. The bright noon sun bounces off of their heads, creating a halo effect on their hair. They’re an attractive couple, and they have a married-people level of intimacy, thanks to being so deeply involved in the same endeavor.

Liam looks around. “Is this my horse, now?” He glances down at Ulysses, who’s still grazing, and pets his mane. “I guess you are, technically. I did pay for you, and all that.”

“I’ll take him, sir,” says a groom who just popped up behind them.

“Oh,” Liam says, looking a little sad that he’s already lost custody of the horse. He hands the leadrope over, though, and the groom escorts Ulysses away.

“Can we go back to the skybox?” Patrick says.

“Only if I can have a nap when we get there,” Louis replies, slinging his arms around Max and Patrick’s shoulders.

MALIBU, AUGUST 5, 2044

The Styles-Malik household settles in that evening for their standard viewing of Olympics coverage, but none of them know much of anything about eventing, so they don’t know how well or how badly Sunday did. Even Marlena, who’s taken horse lessons, has no sense of what’s going on.

Amir keeps glancing over at Toni the entire time. He hadn’t seen her all day beforehand, since he was busy with label stuff, and April, and getting his B12 shot, et cetera. He knows she’s been texting with Maggie, because she told him she is, but she didn’t say any more than that. He’s just so worried that this entire thing is going to blow up in both of their faces at any moment.

He can’t get a moment alone with her, either. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet all night, and once Zayn shuts the TV off, she heads upstairs in silence. Harry stares after her retreating back, but says nothing. Zayn busies himself bringing everyone pudding cups.

Once Amir and Evan are back in the guesthouse, Evan goes to give April her bath while Amir calls Mia from bed.

“Hullo,” Mia says. “You’re on speaker, I’m in the car with Aya.”

“Hi Aya,” Amir says.

“Hi Amir,” Aya calls. He can hear street noise and honking in the background.

“Where you guys at?” Amir says, lolling his head back on his pillows.

“Driving through _Paree_ ,” Mia says in a terrible French accent. “Sunday wants comfort food, and Aya was the only one sober enough to unlock the biometrics in our rental car.”

“Fucking European nanny state,” Amir says. “Why not just take an Uber?”

“Aya hates Ubers.”

“We’re letting robots take over our lives!” Aya exclaims, her Persian accent coming through. “It’s wrong, it’s against nature.”

Amir laughs. “So Sunday didn’t do amazing, is the impression I got? We were trying to decipher the scores and the commentary, but it was tough. I’m used to her dressage scores being in the twenties and thirties, what’s with this seventy percent shit?”

“It’s the same thing, lower is better, it’s just on a higher scale. But she boofed it big time, is the takeaway.”

“You’re kidding,” Amir exclaims. “It was really bad, for real?”

“Not terrible, but not good,” Mia says. “She’s beating herself up about it, of course, ‘cos this might be the only phase she rides in.”

“Fuck, that blows. Poor Sunday.”

“I know. I wish you were here, Meer.”

“I do too,” Amir admits. “But maybe I’ll have a new little niece or nephew ready for you guys when you get back.”

“God, yeah, I’m excited. Nothing better than that… smelling their little newborn heads.”

“You’re worse than Dad.”

She laughs. “No, no, Dad is king babysniffer. I remember him sniffing the twins.”

“How are you feeling, Amir?” Aya calls in the background.

“Yeah, how are you?” Mia says.

Amir takes stock of himself. “Fine,” he says. “Just uncomfortable, and tired. I just want to meet baby.”

“Soon, right?”

“Really soon.”

“Maybe we’ll be back before that,” Mia says hopefully.

“Maybe. When do you get back?”

“I think that depends on if we stay for the closing ceremony or not,” Mia says. “That’s on the twentieth… but Sunday’s last day of competition is the… is it the seventh? Right, Aya?”

“Yes,” Aya says.

“So if you were to have the baby on the fifteenth or something,” Mia elucidates, “maybe we’d come home early.”

“But if not, what are you gonna do in Paris for those two weeks, when Sunday isn’t riding?” Amir says, pressing his hand to his belly where the baby is stirring.

“Holiday,” Mia says, like this is entirely obvious. “Plus, I dunno, it’s the Olympics. We have passes to go wherever we want. We could go watch the gymnastics finals, or something.”

“You’ve never shown any interest in gymnastics,” Amir says.

“Yeah, but it’s the Olympics!”

“I just miss you guys,” Amir admits.

“We miss you too, Meer.” Mia clears her throat. “The only nice thing about you not being here is, y’know… less paparazzi. It’s still pretty bad, but if you were here, it would be insane.”

“Because I’m so famous and beloved,” Amir says, smiling.

Mia laughs. “I would say moreso because you’re so notorious and controversial.”

“Whatever. Same thing. You’re so jealous of me, you always have been, it’s sad.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “How’s April?”

“She’s good. She loves being at Dad’s, she gets constant attention all day long and gets to run around on the beach whenever she wants.”

“Doesn’t she get to run around on the beach in Monterey?”

“Not as much. The waves get choppier there, and it’s not as warm out.”

There’s a knock at the bedroom door, and then Evan opens it, carrying April. “She really wanted to see you,” he says apologetically.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Amir says, extending his arms. “C’mere, my sweet princess.”

Evan brings April over to him, and he takes her. She cuddles up under his arm.

“I’m clean,” she announces happily. “Clean clean.”

“Better than the alternative,” Amir says. Evan comes around the other side of the bed to lie down next to them, and Amir taps the speaker button on his watch before removing his earpiece. “I’m on with Aya and Mia, say hi.”

“Hi,” Evan calls.

“Hi Mia,” April chirps.

“Hiii,” Mia says back. “Hi April.”

“Hi,” April says again.

“Hi,” Aya calls, more faintly.

“Hi,” April says. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Aya, April.”

“Hmm,” April says, looking confused.

Amir nudges her. “She’s Auntie Mia’s girlfriend.”

April shrugs in response, and Evan laughs.

“She’ll remember her when she sees her again,” he says.

“Yeah, she’s shit with names,” Amir says. “Listen, guys, I’ll let you go, but keep me updated.”

“Okay,” Mia says. Her voice sounds happy and light; Amir enjoys hearing her like that. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Amir hangs up and fits his earpiece back into his watch, then sets the watch on the bedside table. April, irritated at being disturbed, snuggles up to him more tightly.

Evan reaches over and lays his hand on Amir’s belly, stroking him with a finger.

Amir closes his eyes. He feels happy and light, himself.

“I have a photoshoot tomorrow,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Evan says. “You told me.”

“I’m just kinda nervous.”

“Why?”

“‘Cos Harry organized it, and I’m afraid he’s gonna try to make it into some high-fashion shit that I don’t feel up to.”

“Well, tell him no,” Evan says. “You’re allowed to say no.”

“And I’m nervous ‘cos I’m pregnant.”

“You look great. You look perfect.”

“Not about _that_ , I know I look great,” Amir says, and Evan laughs. “I’m nervous ‘cos whenever there’s been pap photos of me since I started showing, all the comments are about how I’m a…” He remembers April’s presence and decides not to say what he was going to say. “You know what the comments are like.”

“Yeah, so don’t look at them,” Evan says, leaning in to kiss his cheek, their stubble rubbing together.

Amir nods and kisses April on the head. “Why don’t we put the baby here to bed and then have our own bath?” he says, shooting a lascivious look at Evan.

Evan smiles. “Sure.”

“I don’t _want_ to go to bed,” April says crossly, with impressively crisp enunciation.

“But when I take you to bed, I’m gonna read you _The Little Prince_ ,” Amir says, kissing her on the head again.

“And sing,” April insists.

“And I’ll sing to you.”

She lets out a bratty toddler sigh. “Okay.”

THE 16TH ARRONDISSEMENT OF PARIS, AUGUST 6, 2044

By Saturday morning, Sunday has recovered from her dressage-failure blues and taken on a zen resignation.

“I’m sure I’m not even going to get to ride for the rest of the Games,” she tells them that morning when they meet her at the stables. “So I’ll just hang out with you guys and cheer on my team, and that’s fine.”

They don’t try to buck her up, because she always resists that, anyway. They’re all happy to hang out with her by the start box, watching the competitors make their way around the cross country course on the massive TV screen staked into the ground a few feet away, then cheering their lungs out when they come into real-life view, racing up the hill toward the finish line.

It rained last night, and the ground is wet and soft, with chunks of grass and mud being flung everywhere by foot and hoof traffic. Louis loves the smell of this, plus the crackle of excitement in the crowd packed along the sidelines. It reminds him of football.

Team USA is headquartered in a tent along the sidelines, with the coaching staff and riders who have already competed huddled around laptops on plastic tables, shouting things to each other that Louis doesn’t understand. Sunday keeps going over to the tent to confer with Julio and Clive, while the rest of them stay at the sideline, glancing back and forth between the nearest TV and the course.

They have three bodyguards forming a tight phalanx around them, protecting them from the throng of other spectators, though Louis thinks this really isn’t necessary. There are much richer and more notable people in this crowd, including members of royal families.

“Coming up the hill toward fence eleven we have Melanie Barrett of the US, riding Eskimo,” a British woman’s voice echoes over the loudspeakers. “Clear over fence eleven, and making that tight turn to fence twelve, a drop into water…”

They’re all glued to the TV, watching Melanie. Eskimo approaches the fence, then plants his hooves and backs off. The crowd around them gasps and begins to murmur. Louis glances at Liam, who shrugs.

“That’s one refusal for Melanie Barrett and Eskimo,” the announcer continues. “She’s turning him and lining up her approach… coming back around now…”

The shot on the TV switches to one facing the fence head-on, which gives them all a perfect view of Melanie’s horse stopping dead at the lip of the drop, sending her flying over his head and into the water. Everyone gasps.

Louis grabs Liam’s arm. “Is she out?”

“Shh, shh,” Liam hisses. “This woman might’ve just broken her neck, you ghoul.”

“No, no, she’s fine, she’s getting up…”

Melanie is in fact getting up and walking out of the pond, soaked and looking furious. In the background, they can see people trying to round up Eskimo, who’s running around in circles.

“Disastrous run for Melanie Barrett at fence twelve as she falls from Eskimo,” the announcer says. “Unfortunately, any fall is an instant disqualification for horse and rider, to be followed by a medical evaluation… this is today’s first elimination for Team USA.”

More gasping. Mia turns to Louis, beaming.

“Sunday’s gonna ride!” she exclaims.

“Holy shit,” the twins say in unison.

They all turn to look at Sunday, who’s a few feet away under the tent, looking stricken. Clive claps her on the back and says, “Head on up to warm-up, alright? Edward’s got Ulysses tacked up for you. You’ve got to be in the start box by five after twelve.”

Julio looks jubilant, although he manages to keep his tone calm and even as he reaches out to pat her shoulder and say, “ _Tú puedes_.”

“Sunday,” Louis calls to her. “D’you have one sec before you go warm up? Can you c’mere?”

She nods and heads over to them. Liam pulls her in to kiss her on the head and say, “Good luck, sweetheart,” and she lets out a shaky breath and says, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Huddle up,” Louis says, and everyone obeys him. “Alright. You’re not ridin’ alone, love. You’ve got your horse, you’ve got your teammates, and you’ve got us. Stay strong, and remember that this is where you shine. Keep your wits about you, watch out for that fence twelve. You’ll do great. We love you. Everybody say ‘Sunday’ on three. One, two —”

Before he can finish, everyone choruses “Sunday!”

Sunday starts laughing as they break the huddle. “Thanks,” she says, sounding emotional.

“Now get the fuck out of here,” Louis says, swatting her on the arm. “Go warm up.”

She shoots him a smile and heads up the hill toward the warm-up area.

Liam exhales and leans on Louis. “I’m about to lose the plot, honestly.”

“Here,” Aya says, handing him the chilled bottle of water she was holding. He presses it to his forehead instead of taking a sip from it, and they all laugh.

Louis tries to distract himself as they wait for Sunday to ride, but it’s very difficult. He spends most of the next twenty minutes staring at his watch, waiting for the minutes to tick down. 11:54… 11:55… 11:56… 11:57…

“D’you think I have time to run and go get something from the concession stand?” Max finally says.

“No,” everyone exclaims.

“She rides in five minutes, Fox,” Liam says, glancing at his watch and then turning his attention back to the start box. “She should be getting down here any moment. In fact, where is she? What if she’s late?”

“Payno, she’s surrounded by people whose job it is to get her there on time, and I’ve never known her to be late for anythin’,” Louis says.

“I know, I know,” Liam says, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and squeezing him. “I’m just anxious.”

Louis turns his head and leans up to kiss Liam on his jaw, which is attractively speckled with graying stubble. “She’s gonna kill it. Cross country is where she’s at her best, yeah?”

Liam, in turn, kisses Louis on the head.

“Mia, do some of your Muslim voodoo,” Patrick says.

“It’s called a dua, and I already made one, you caveman,” Mia says, cutting her eyes at him. He grins at her in response.

Two or three more minutes pass before they spot Sunday riding down the hill on Ulysses, with Clive and another bloke on her left side, and Julio on her right. They all appear to be giving her last-minute advice, while she nods, her face pale white under her dark helmet. She’s got her body-protector vest on, and her boots have a glossy shine.

Louis winks at Sunday as she passes them on her way through the gate onto the course, and she laughs and winks at him back.

“Good luck baby!” Liam shouts at her. “You’ve got this! You’re gonna kill it!”

Sunday waves over her shoulder at him as she heads over to the start box. When she stops, Julio reaches down to tighten her stirrups, then gives her a thumbs up. She returns it to him.

“God, I’m so nervous for her,” Mia says. She extends her hand to Aya. “Feel how sweaty my palms are.”

“Ew, no thank you,” Aya says.

Max slaps Mia’s palm like he’s low-fiving her. “Yeah, that’s pretty sweaty,” he declares.

Louis leans on the fenceline, looking out over the fences and treelines dotting the rolling green hills below. Now that she’s on course, he’s less worried about her doing well and more worried about her falling off and getting hurt. These fences are massively tall. Christ.

“Hi there,” calls a voice behind them.

They turn and see Ceci and John. Ceci has large, round sunglasses on, and a silk twill scarf around her shoulders. John is dressed for a day at the polo fields.

“I thought we’d join you to watch Sunday’s ride,” Ceci says.

Louis glances up at Liam, who nods and says, “Sure.”

Hugo motions to the two other bodymen to expand the security circle slightly, so Ceci and John can squeeze up to the sideline with them. The other spectators in their immediate vicinity, who have spent the last hour shooting ‘ _I recognize you, are you famous?_ ’ looks at Liam and Louis, begin giving Ceci the same look.

“Is that Hermes?” Aya says to Ceci, indicating her scarf.

Ceci looks pleasantly surprised. “Yes,” she says. “It’s their Pegasus.”

“Oh, I love that,” Aya says. “I have a horse head bangle from them…” She shows Ceci her wrist. “I’ve been wearing it for good luck.”

Ceci takes her hand and examines the bangle. “Is that vintage?”

“It is.”

“Beautiful piece.”

Aya looks chuffed. “Thank you.”

Mia makes eye contact with Louis and widens her eyes slightly in alarm; Louis stifles a laugh.

“Next up on course is Sunday Payne-Marino for the USA, riding Ulysses,” the announcer says. “Payne-Marino is the reserve rider for Team USA, whose score will be substituted in place of Melanie Barrett’s following her elimination on this course.”

A buzzer sounds, and Sunday speeds out of the start box on Ulysses, heading down the hill toward the first fence on the course. She sails over it and then disappears behind a treeline. They all simultaneously turn toward the television, where the picture switches between static camera shots at various fences, a drone shot from overhead, and the feed from a tiny GoPro mounted on Sunday’s helmet.

“Sunday Payne-Marino clear over fence five,” the announcer intones.

Louis leans backward into Liam, pressing against him to reassure him. Liam reaches down and gives him a squeeze on the bum, making him snort.

“Everyone got their fingers crossed?” Louis says.

His children and Aya obediently cross their fingers. After a moment, John does, too.

They watch the TV as Sunday sails over the next few fences with ease. Despite how nervous she must be, she makes this look like the easiest thing in the world. When she gets to fence twelve, Louis gets worried for her, but Ulysses leaps into the water and carries on like it’s no big deal.

“Coming to the back half of the course now, Sunday Payne-Marino on Ulysses,” the announcer says. “She’s on pace with the optimum time, and if she can make it through this course double-clear, that’ll be fantastic for team USA… few riders have managed to avoid accruing time faults today.”

Patrick isn’t looking at the TV; he’s leaning against the fence, all of his fingers on both hands crossed with each other, staring intently at the finish line like he can manifest a victory for Sunday. Louis reaches out and squeezes him on the shoulder.

As she approaches each fence, they wince collectively as a group, then breathe a sigh of relief once she’s safely over it.

“Clean over fence twenty-four,” the announcer says, “now on to the last, Sunday Payne-Marino riding Ulysses…”

Sunday bursts into view from behind some trees, atop the dark brown bullet train of Ulysses, flying. Together, they leap over the last fence: a massive pile of logs. They land, and Ulysses heads back into his gallop, fluid as water, while Sunday bends over his neck like a jockey. They can hear her shouting “Come on!” to him.

Liam and Louis are holding hands very tightly; Louis is gripping the fence with his other hand.

Sunday streaks over the finish line, and there’s an interminable beat of silence before the announcer exclaims, “Double clear! A double clear ride for the US, from Sunday Payne-Marino!”

Half of the crowd by the fenceline erupts in cheering, with her family cheering loudest of all, so loudly that Louis’ throat burns from it. He wishes he had a bottle of champagne to pop. Liam seems to forget that Ceci is standing right next to him and gives Louis a sloppy celebratory kiss on the mouth, and then they all scramble up the hill toward the bank of wash stalls where Sunday’s standing with her horse, surrounded by Team USA people.

As soon as Sunday notices them, she hands Ulysses off to Julio, takes her helmet off and runs over, launching herself at Liam for a hug. They spin around in a circle together, laughing hysterically. Sunday is covered in mud and sweat, and her body protector is as hard as a bulletproof vest, but Liam squeezes her until he’s lifting her feet off the ground.

When he lets her go, Sunday goes straight to Ceci and hugs her too. Ceci looks surprised, but pats her on the back and whispers something in her ear.

Finally, Sunday turns to Louis. He, Mia, Patrick and Max all pile on her like they’re in a rugby scrum, grabbing and slapping at her. They’re dead silent; they’re too happy and proud to speak. Louis thinks he would cry if he tried.

As they’re separating, Clive comes up the hill behind them, audibly out of breath. Vicky is at his side, along with a male rider who Louis recognizes but can’t remember the name of. “Sunday,” Clive says, beaming. “Beautiful ride. Absolutely splendid effort from you both.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Sunday says, giving him a wobbly smile. Louis tousles her sweaty hair, and she smiles at him, her eyes shining.

“That push at the end was amazing,” the male rider says. “What a horse, Christ. I really saw the thoroughbred in him.”

“He’s my good boy,” Sunday says.

“Is the good boy being cooled off properly?” Clive says to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Julio calls to him from where he’s standing by Ulysses, petting his head while a team of grooms squeeze soaking-wet sponges over his back and neck. “I just sent Christine to go get ice for his legs.”

“Splendid, good thinking.” Clive claps his hands together. “Alright. So far, we’re in good position for tomorrow. We won’t take home team gold, we’re too far behind Germany for the math to work, but if we stay strong today and do well in stadium these next few days, we could snag silver.”

“Don’t count us out for gold,” Vicky says, grinning. “The Germans could have tons of rails unexpectedly.”

“They won’t,” Clive says. “That’s why they’re the Germans.”

MALIBU, AUGUST 6, 2044

Harry should have anticipated that the photoshoot wasn’t going to go the way he planned, but for some reason, Amir’s insolence about it is like a slap in the face.

It starts early, when Harry brings Chiara over and has her lay out a series of outfits in the drawing room. He also lays out some of his own clothes, as well — things he wore when he was pregnant with Marlena. He knows most of them will probably be too long for Amir, but they can strategically pin something if they really like it.

However, when he calls Amir in to come take a look, Amir appears in the doorway in a stretchy black t-shirt and tapered joggers, looks around at all the clothes and says, “I’m not changing.”

“What?” Harry says, dropping the shirtsleeve he was examining. “What d’you mean? You’re not wearing _that_.”

Amir glances down at himself. “Aren’t I?”

His hair and eyebrows are done, and he’s clean-shaven with rings on his fingers and a silver chain around his neck, but he’s dressed like he just rolled out of bed.

“Sweatpants?” Chiara says, peering over her glasses at him in horror.

“Amir,” Harry says, incredulous.

Amir slides his hands into his pockets. “Harry,” he intones in an imitation of Harry’s deeper voice, and tilts his head.

“Well, come on. Yusuf works for Gucci. He’s not exactly accustomed to shooting people in their sweatpants.”

“Am I not the subject?” Amir says, framing his face with his hands. “Me and the baby?” He frames his belly. “I’m so pregnant, Harry, I’m fucking exhausted. I don’t even want to look through this stuff, let alone try on multiple outfits. I look good in black, and I’m comfortable, so let’s shoot me like this and just get these photos in the can before I drop this kid.”

There’s something so gratingly _Louisian_ about Amir lately, something grounded and frank that makes the hair on Harry’s arms stand up. It makes him feel the same way Louis himself does — silly, and foppish, and frivolous.

This is especially aggravating because Amir used to love frivolity. He loved silly outfits and lavish dinners and ridiculous photoshoots, and he used to look at Harry like he was the most interesting man in the world. Then he got chewed up by the threshing machine of the music industry, and now he looks at Harry with patient pity, like he’s 75-year-old Elton John.

This divide only got worse when Louis and Harry teamed up to manage Amir’s career. Amir had never before had the split between Louis and Harry’s philosophies exposed to him in such sharp relief, and when pressed to choose between them, he came down on Louis’ side over and over again.

Chiara shoots a look at Harry.

“What brand are the sweatpants?” Harry asks Amir, wanting to put this argument to bed before it can even take place.

Amir turns so they can see the GUCCI that runs up the side stripe in thick red letters.

“Alright, fine,” Harry relents. “That’s fine. Where’s the shirt from?”

“Target,” Amir says.

“ _Target_?”

Amir shrugs.

Chiara throws her hands up, but says nothing.

“Yusuf is in the butterfly garden waiting for you,” Harry says to Amir. “Want me to walk you out?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Amir says. “Can he take a few photos with April and Evan, too?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “It’s your shoot. I just thought you’d want some nice maternity photos.” He puts emphasis on _nice_ , so Amir understands why he was anti-sweatpants.

“No, I get it,” Amir says. “I appreciate you setting this up. But this isn’t a Gucci campaign, it’s for me to have, and maybe post a few on social media.”

“Right,” Harry says tightly. “I get it.”

“Would this stuff even fit me?” Amir says, glancing around the room.

“We have your current measurements,” Chiara says, her voice clipped. “These pieces are all from our maternity line. I was aware of your pregnancy when I selected them.”

Amir points to a shirt that’s lying on the divan sofa. “I can tell by looking at this that it wouldn’t fit.”

“Fine,” Harry says. “You’re not wearing any of it, so what does it matter? Let’s go meet Yusuf. Chiara — thanks for coming. You can leave all of this, I’ll bring it with me when I come by tomorrow. You can see yourself out. _Buona giornata._ ”

Chiara is clearly peeved, but waves goodbye to them as Harry leads Amir through the house toward the east side yard.

“You’re pissed off at me,” Amir says as they walk down the hall, passing the paintings hanging on the walls, Harry’s loafer heels clicking on the marble while the rubber of Amir’s sneaker soles squeak on it.

“No,” Harry says shortly.

“Yeah, you are.”

“I just had a vision for this shoot, is all.”

“What was it?”

“Sort of airy and ethereal,” Harry says. “To suit the setting.”

“I’m nine months pregnant. I do not feel airy and ethereal.”

“I know, but you could look it, with the right clothes and styling.”

“Why bother, if it’s a lie?” Amir says. “Who’s that for? It’s not for me, so who?”

Harry doesn’t even know how to answer that. He realizes he’s walking too fast, and slows down. “It’s just a photoshoot, Amir. It’s not for an editorial. Do what you want.”

Amir catches up with him. “You should have told me you were planning to have Chiara over, I would have told you not to.”

“I thought it was a given that you’d want wardrobe options, considering you can’t wear most of your own clothes, right now.”

They reach the side garden door, and he holds it open for Amir, who’s texting. Amir steps out onto the stone path, then turns to Harry and says, “Look, I’m wearing neutral dark clothes. Yusuf is gonna get good stuff for his portfolio, I’ll get good stuff for social media, Evan and my family will have nice photos of me pregnant, bing bang boom. Everyone gets what they want.”

“Gucci wanted some photos of you in their maternity line,” Harry says, following him as he leads the way down the path into the butterfly garden, past trickling fountains and beautiful trees. “That’s all.”

“Well, they should make more comfortable fucking clothes, then.”

“Designer clothes aren’t meant to be comfortable. They’re art pieces.”

“How about today, _I’m_ the art piece?”

“Cocky, aren’t we?” Harry replies.

They step into the butterfly garden, a circular area with stone seating and a central fountain, so named because it’s full of fragrant and vividly colored flowers that butterflies love. At least a dozen butterflies are flapping around; when they walk up to him, Yusuf is bent over a flower bed, photographing one.

“Hi,” Harry says. “Delivery.”

“Hello hello,” Yusuf says, firing off a few more shots before straightening up and coming over to them. He and Amir shake hands. “Amir! You look incredible.”

“Thanks,” Amir says. “Where do you want me?”

“Hmm,” Yusuf says, glancing at Harry. “Maybe take a seat by the fountain here, to start. Harry? Any ideas?”

Amir turns to him, too, and Harry clears his throat.

“I dunno,” he says. “I had a vision for this shoot, and I sent Amir some comps, including a shoot I did when I was expecting Marlena, but I’m not sure how he was feeling about them.”

“I didn’t vibe with any of them, honestly,” Amir says. “I’m not gonna do that, play it like I’m all innocent and angelic. I’d get ripped apart for it. You can pull that off, I can’t.”

“So what are you gonna do then?” Harry says. “Do what you always do… pout at the camera like a Bristol punk?”

Amir laughs. “I feel like a dipshit when I smile for photos.”

“You have a lovely smile,” Harry says. “I’d like to see it in photos, once in a while. It might actually make people more sympathetic to you, not less.”

“Okay,” Amir says, his tone passive-aggressive. He bares his teeth in a mirthless smile. “Sure. Whatever you want, Harry.”

“Is it possible that after thirty years of this shit, I might have some idea of what I’m doing?” Harry says.

Amir spreads his hands and goes over to sit on the fountain, arduously lowering himself onto the rim.

Harry retreats behind Yusuf as he approaches Amir and kneels a few feet back from him, lining up his shot.

Amir is very good at being photographed. He knows how to charm a camera, and he’s not only good-looking, but interesting to look at. He poses instinctively without having to be told, and he does so for Yusuf, tipping his head back and cupping his belly with his hands.

He’s playing to the camera so well that Harry wishes again that he would have just put some of the Gucci clothes on. This could have been a stunning editorial, if Amir had wanted it to be.

Amir is smirking into the camera, now, giving it a cocky look that reminds Harry of both of his parents.

It would be so easy for him to have a soft expression, to look loving and maternal, approachable, gentle. He could drop the artifice, if he wanted — stop this cool, aloof act. He managed to speak vulnerably in the interviews he gave while rebuilding his career, but the photos that accompanied the interviews didn’t match. Whenever you put a camera on Amir, he hardens up, like a lifetime of being papped has walled him in a suit of armor. The only time he softens is when you catch him in a candid moment, especially if April is around.

While Yusuf is shooting, a blue butterfly lands on Amir’s shoulder. Amir glances down at it in surprise, then turns to Harry and Yusuf and laughs. It’s a genuine, happy laugh that lights up his face.

Harry holds his breath as he listens to Yusuf’s shutter click. If the logo on the sweats is visible in any of these photos, Gucci could use them for advertising, at the very least. Harry will have to get Amir to sign a model release, but that should be easy enough, once the baby comes and he’s blissed out about it.

He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see Evan walking up, holding April by the hand.

“Harry,” April says with confidence, and points at him.

“Hi April,” Harry says, smiling at her.

“Is that a butterfly on his shirt?” Evan says, looking over at Amir.

“Yep,” Harry says.

“Did you guys do that, or did that just happen?”

“Just happened.”

“Wow.”

The butterfly darts away, and Amir glances over at them, then starts smiling wider. “April,” he calls.

“Daddy,” April shouts back, and bolts over to him.

“Wait, wait,” Evan says, chasing after her. “Don’t jump on your dad, and don’t fall in the fountain…”

Yusuf starts laughing as he watches this scene through his viewfinder. Evan picks April up and swings her onto the rim of the fountain beside Amir, then very sternly tells her to sit down before retreating back behind Yusuf.

Yusuf continues to snap away while Amir leans in to rub his nose against April’s, making her giggle. “Butterfly kisses,” he sings. “Butterfly kisses in the butterfly garden…”

Evan glances over at Harry. “So how’s this been going?”

“Good,” Harry says, and gnaws at his lip. “He’s wearing a shirt from _Target_ , but...”

Evan barks out a laugh. “Is he?”

“I’ve given up, at this point,” Harry says.

“Have you, though?”

“No,” Harry admits.

“He doesn’t mean to be difficult,” Evan says, his voice quiet enough for Yusuf and Amir not to be able to hear it over the birds chirping and water gushing in the fountains.

“I know,” Harry says, reaching out and squeezing Evan’s shoulder. “I don’t, either. You want to go join them?”

“Nah, he can get a few more photos with April first,” Evan says. “They both have the photogenic thing, anyway, and I don’t.”

“Posing well is a skill that can be taught,” Harry says.

Evan laughs again.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Evan says, glancing over at him. “I just feel like you’re the type of person who thinks everything can be taught.”

“Well, most things can be,” Harry says. “If you’re willing to work hard enough.”

Evan shrugs. “I dunno, I feel like we are who we are, mostly.”

Harry watches as Amir holds April steady so she can reach her little hand into the fountain’s splashing water. “I find that mindset depressing,” he says.

“Really?” Evan says. “I think it’s a relief.”

“So, your fifth wedding anniversary’s in a few days,” Harry says, wanting a change of subject.

“Oh, yeah,” Evan says. “It is.”

“You should get in there, get some photos of you two with April before she gets fussy. I’ll have one printed up large, framed and all that, give it to you both as a gift.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you.” Evan looks down at his clothes. “Am I dressed okay?”

Harry takes stock of his outfit of a crisp button-down and slacks. Evan has the in-born old-money ability to dress himself well. “You’re fine. Your husband’s in joggers, so...”

Evan laughs, then heads over to the fountain and takes a seat beside Amir, lifting April onto his lap. Evan stiffens up as soon as he gets in front of the camera, but Amir softens him by leaning in and resting his chin on Evan’s shoulder to coo to April.

Yusuf keeps firing off shots while Harry watches, fiddling with the cross around his neck.

*

Amir’s back in the guesthouse when Toni finds him around eleven. He just took a call from an excited Louis and Mia, who told him that Sunday was triumphant at today’s events and has been crowned the queen of the Olympics, or something. Now he’s sitting on the floor with April and her Fisher-Price piano, trying to explain to her what a middle C is.

He hears the door open and Toni call out, “Meer?”

Amir looks up. “Yeah?”

“You alone?”

“Well, I’m with April, but yeah.”

Toni comes in, kicking off her flip-flops in the entryway and heading over to him. She takes a seat on the living room couch, looking tense. “Where’s Evan?”

“Uh, he ran out to go do something,” Amir says. “But he wouldn’t tell me where he was going, he just kept saying ‘shopping’, so I’m guessing he forgot to get me an anniversary present.”

Toni laughs in a distracted way.

Amir strokes April’s hair. “Alright, what’s up?”

Toni’s dark eyes meet his. “My biological mom wants to meet me,” she says.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Today.”

“ _Today_?”

“Just to introduce herself,” Toni says.

“Tones, this is moving so fast,” Amir says. “And doesn’t any of this feel sketchy to you? Why do you have to meet in person?”

“I’ve been talking to her and Maggie for the past two days,” Toni says. “She’s been looking for me for _years_. Can you imagine if you had to look for April for years? Would you be willing to put off meeting her, once you found her?”

“That’s a dirty hit,” Amir snaps. “This isn’t about me. I’m trying to protect you.”

“So come with me. That’s what I came here to ask. She wants to meet at a coffee shop in Santa Monica.”

“What do you even know about her?” Amir says, still uneasy.

“Not much,” Toni says. “She wants to explain things in person. She said it’s too much to get into over text, or over the phone.”

April is poking keys on the keyboard at random, now, while babbling to herself. Amir gazes at her for a long moment.

“Isn’t it time to tell your parents about this?” he says.

“Why? So they can stop me?”

“So they know what’s going on.”

“After I meet her,” Toni says. “After I find out the truth. I’m going either way, just so you know. I just thought you might want to come with me.”

“Of course I don’t want you going alone,” Amir says, looking back at her. “I just think it’s a fucking terrible idea in the first place.”

“Well, maybe so is adopting a kid and then not letting them find out where they came from,” Toni says, her voice husky. “I told Gina I’d meet her at noon, so we should leave soon. Marlena agreed to watch April. I told her we’re going shopping for baby stuff.”

“So you’re just lying to everyone?” Amir says.

“Not to _you_ ,” Toni shoots back. “What happened to Trauma Club?”

“I’m realizing Trauma Club doesn’t exist, it’s just me letting myself get manipulated by my teenage sister whose brain hasn’t finished developing.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Amir sighs. “So her name is Gina? Your mom?”

Toni nods.

“Okay. Let me get changed and drop April off with Lena, and we’ll go.”

“Thanks, Amir.”

“Don’t thank me,” Amir says. “I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“Still,” Toni says.

*

They get to the coffee shop twenty minutes early, and spend that twenty minutes sitting anxiously in the car. They read Gina’s last text over and over: _I’ll be on the first floor, toward the back._

Finally, Toni says, “I can’t take this anymore,” and shoves the car door open.

“Wait, wait,” Amir says, shoving his own door open. “Don’t run out ahead of me, I can’t chase you.”

“Sorry.”

His physical anxiety is off the charts as they walk up to the cafe and through the door, the bells atop it jingling. He’s wearing a cap and sunglasses so no one will recognize him; he thinks a guy sitting at a table near the door does, and then he realizes the guy is probably either staring at him because he’s very pregnant, or because he’s covered in tattoos. Or both. So Amir rolls his eyes at him as he goes by.

“She did say the first floor, right?” Toni whispers. She has a death grip on Amir’s arm.

“Yeah,” Amir says, glancing at the spiral staircase leading up to the second floor of the cafe. “Is that her in the corner?”

He nods toward the back left corner of the mostly empty cafe, where a black woman in her fifties is sitting alone in a booth, cradling a mug in her hands. She looks elegant; she’s wearing a short-sleeved black turtleneck, with silver jewelry on, and thin dreads that are piled up in a bun atop her head.

She also looks a little like Toni. For some reason this makes Amir’s heart sink. It’s hard for him to come to terms with Toni having an entire other family outside of his own — she’s always been his little sister just like Marlena is.

Amir realizes Toni has suddenly stopped moving. He nudges her, but she’s planted her feet in the middle of the cafe. The barista behind the counter glances idly over at them while rinsing out a blender.

“Toni,” he whispers to her. “Do you want to leave? We can leave.”

“No,” Toni says in a low voice. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay, then we gotta go over there.”

The woman has noticed them, now. She sets her mug down and steeples her hands, pressing them to her mouth, hiding her expression.

Toni starts walking again, now moving toward the booth at a clip. Amir moseys along behind her.

“Hi,” Toni says when she reaches the woman’s booth. She’s staring at her with a crazed look on her face. “Are you Gina?”

“Yes,” Gina says. “Are you Toni?”

“Yes.”

Gina stands up, her face crumpling with grief as she does. “Can I hug you?” she says.

Toni nods, her own face having already crumpled, and they embrace. Toni sobs into her shoulder, clinging to her. Everyone else in the cafe is trying very hard not to stare at them.

Amir stands a few feet back, feeling awkward, then decides to just go ahead and take a seat in the booth. He takes his sunglasses off and slips them into his pocket.

When the two women finally separate, wiping their eyes and sniffling, Amir says, “I’m Amir, by the way. Her brother.”

“Hi,” Gina says, eyeing him. “Do you two want some coffee?”

“I’m okay,” Toni says, sniffling again.

“I’m good, I have really bad heartburn,” Amir says, scooting in so Toni can sit down next to him. He wraps an arm protectively around her shoulders.

Gina sits down across from them, taking a deep breath. She lays her hands atop each other on the table. “Okay,” she says. “I guess the first thing I should do is explain.”

“Yeah,” Toni says, dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin.

Gina inhales. “This is very hard,” she says, her voice wobbling. “And, um… this is weird, but…” She nods to Amir. “You kind of resemble Toni’s father.”

Amir is thrown by this. “Seriously?”

Gina nods. “I have a photo of him, if you want to see,” she says to Toni.

“Yeah, please, please,” she says.

Gina taps on her watch for a few moments, then displays a small, low-res photo as a hologram. It’s a picture of a handsome young guy in his early twenties. Amir sees the resemblance between them: the guy is dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned and slender. He’s even wearing a UCLA Bruins sweatshirt, which Amir does sometimes — Mia has gifted him a ton of those.

He and Toni have the same smile, Amir notes.

“He went to UCLA?” Toni says.

“Yes,” Gina says, tapping her watch so the photo vanishes. “I teach there... I taught him.”

“Our sister went there,” Toni says.

“What do you teach?” Amir says, wondering if Mia could have taken one of her classes without realizing.

“Music theory,” Gina says. “He was a musician.”

A musician? There’s another similarity. Amir notes the _was_ — maybe Harry’s instincts were on point.

“Are you in touch with him?” Toni says. “Do you know where he is?”

Gina’s face falls again. She looks down at her clasped hands for a long moment. “Your father is dead,” she says.

Yeah. Harry was right.

“What?” Toni says, sounding crushed.

“I’m so sorry. He died very soon after you were born. He was the one who gave birth to you, and the one who gave you up. I wasn’t even sure you were alive until Maggie got your message.”

“He’s _dead_?” Toni exclaims. A man sitting at a booth by the window glances at them, and Amir shoots him a ‘mind your own business’ look.

Gina nods.

“What did he die of?” Toni says, still sounding struck with disbelief.

Gina hesitates before saying, “A drug overdose.”

Amir closes his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. He feels panic setting in, and he tries to center himself: tries to focus on Toni’s shoulders beneath his arms, the booth seat beneath his legs, the way the baby is crushing his stomach and bladder, the smell of coffee and the sound of utensils tinkling in cups and book pages turning throughout the cafe.

“He’s dead,” Toni repeats. “Of a drug overdose.”

Gina nods. “He’s been dead for exactly seventeen years.”

Amir keeps doing breathing exercises. He feels like he might be the first person to ever go into labor from sheer willies.

Toni is quiet for a long moment. Gina just watches her.

“Please explain,” Toni finally says.

“Okay,” Gina says, nodding. “Your father’s name was Frank. Frank Romano. I was his professor at UCLA. I was thirty-seven. We never…” She shakes her head. “We never should have had a relationship. It was wrong, it was unethical. But he was older than my other students, and very mature, because he’d dealt with opioid addiction in high school, and he took some time off to go get treatment.”

“How old was he?” Toni says.

“Twenty-three, when I taught him,” Gina says. “He used to come by my office hours, and we’d just talk about music. He was very bright.”

“Did he play the guitar?” Toni says, in a tiny whisper.

“I’m sorry?” Gina says, leaning closer.

“She asked if he played the guitar,” Amir says for her, because Toni is shaking like she’s about to cry. “She plays the guitar.”

Gina nods. “He did, but he played several instruments. He was a multi-instrumentalist.”

“Like you, Amir,” Toni sniffs.

Amir nods, but on the inside he’s begging them both to stop comparing him to this poor, ODed, baby-abandoning bastard before he loses it and runs out of the cafe screaming.

“We had an affair,” Gina says. The words sound rehearsed, and dried out from years of regret. “I was married at the time, to my now ex-husband. He and I have two daughters, Maggie and Michelle.”

“What’s your last name?” Toni says.

“Thompson,” Gina says.

Toni repeats it. “Thompson...”

Gina clears her throat. “During our affair, your father relapsed. He tried to hide it from me, but I came by his apartment early one day and found him shooting heroin. I panicked. I didn’t want someone like that around my family.”

 _‘Someone like that’_ stings Amir like nettles.

“A few weeks later, I broke things off. I didn’t know he was pregnant with you. I don’t know if he even knew, by then,” Gina says. “He never said anything to me. I didn’t even know he could get pregnant.”

“You didn’t consider that it was a possibility?” Amir says. “You must know you’re an alpha.”

Gina glances at him. “I do, but I didn’t think about the other side of that coin,” she says. “And he never told me. My ex-husband wasn’t… like that. I had no experience with men who were.”

Amir stays quiet. It isn’t his place to say anything.

“So after I broke things off, Frank dropped out,” Gina says. “I didn’t see him after that. He didn’t respond to any of my texts or calls, and later on, I heard he had become homeless.”

“Was he doing drugs while he was pregnant with me?” Toni says.

“I’m not sure,” Gina says. “I think he was at least trying to stay clean. I ran into him in a park, almost a year later… he looked like he’d been sleeping rough for a while, and he was very pregnant. About as pregnant as you are,” she says, indicating Amir.

Amir clears his throat and rubs his thumb against his wedding band.

“We talked for a while,” Gina says. “He seemed sober, and he told me he was trying to stay sober. When I asked if the baby was mine, he said no, and to not worry about it. I — I should have worried about it. I should have tried to get him off the streets.” Her voice is strangled with pain, suddenly. “But I was worried about my marriage, and my kids, and I worried about what my colleagues and students would think. So I gave him a wad of cash, and that was it, I never saw him again. A month later, I found out that he had died.”

“And you didn’t know what had happened to me?” Toni says.

Gina shakes her head. “I had no idea.”

“I was a healthy baby,” Toni mutters. “If that makes you feel better.”

“It does, actually,” Gina says. “I don’t know how he managed that, I can’t imagine he was getting good prenatal care. But I really think he did love you, and wanted the best for you. He just couldn’t even take care of himself, much less a baby.” She inhales. “His parents came to see me about a year after he died. They told me that he had died of a heroin overdose in a halfway house. And they said that when they came to identify his body, the coroner told them he had had a baby within the last few weeks, and they were shocked, because they never knew he was pregnant. They couldn’t figure out who had fathered this baby… it didn’t occur to them that it was an alpha woman, they said. They assumed it was a man — one of his drug dealers, or something.”

Toni swallows. Amir squeezes her tighter.

“They spent the year after Frank’s death combing public parks in Los Angeles for people who knew him,” Gina says. Saying his name seems to cause her pain; she keeps avoiding it. “They showed everyone his photo. A lot of people recognized him, but he hadn’t confided in them. Finally, they found a woman he had made good friends with. She told them everything she knew, which was that the baby was mine, and he had given birth alone, then taken the baby somewhere safe and surrendered it. Then he finally got into a halfway house he’d been on the waiting list for, where he relapsed, and he died of an overdose soon after.”

Tears are streaming silently down Toni’s cheeks.

“I haven’t talked to his parents in years,” Gina says. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you, if they’re still around. I could help you get in touch with them.”

Toni nods, but she looks completely overwhelmed. Amir can’t blame her.

“I looked for you, after that,” Gina says, her voice husky with her own tears. “I swear I looked for you. I hired a private investigator. But I didn’t know where Frank had left you, and I didn’t even know if you were alive. I thought you might have been adopted, if you were. After a certain point, I had to stop putting so much energy into it. My marriage had already disintegrated, and I needed to focus on my children who were here, and my career. But I was never able to put you out of my mind completely.”

“Did you ever think…” Toni stops. “We thought maybe you might have seen stuff about me in the tabloids,” she says. “‘Cos of who adopted me, and ‘cos my dads have talked about me in interviews… how I was found in a firehouse, and stuff.”

Gina shakes her head. “I only know of your parents in passing,” she says, sounding apologetic. “They were big when I was young, but I didn’t pay attention to their personal lives, I wouldn’t have read any of their interviews. I never in a million years would imagine you were adopted by a famous couple. I thought if you survived, you likely went into foster care. And I did look for you in the foster care system, but I guess you got snapped up for adoption so fast that I was too late.”

Amir grinds his teeth. If this situation weren’t so fragile, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from saying, accusatorily, _You should have helped him_. _You should have known it was your baby._ He imagines himself delivering a baby alone after nine months on the streets, then succumbing to H in a filthy halfway house. It’s an image that sends electric tingles of fear down his spine.

“Okay,” Toni says. She sounds numb. “This is a lot.”

“I understand,” Gina says. “It was just important to me that you heard the truth.”

“No, I, um, I wanted to know,” Toni says. She hiccups and tosses the wet tissue that was clenched in her fist down on the table. “Now I know. That’s what I wanted.” She gets unsteadily to her feet.

“Toni,” Amir says, as she slips out from under his arm.

Toni starts walking away, toward the front door.

“Toni,” Gina calls, but she doesn’t turn around. “Wait, please.”

Amir scoots to the edge of the booth and starts awkwardly levering himself to his feet.“She’ll text you, or something,” he says to Gina, starting to walk away after Toni, who’s booking it through the front doors and into the parking lot. “This is just a lot for her. And she needs to tell her parents, and stuff.”

“I understand,” Gina says. “Tell her to take all the time she needs. I’ll be here.”

Amir nods. “Nice, uh, nice meeting you,” he says.

She nods. “You too.”

He walks away and shoulders the front door open, stepping out into the hot August day. “Toni,” he shouts at her retreating back. “Hold up! Toni! I told you I can’t chase you, come on!”

Toni stops and turns around, sobbing. Amir gets to her as fast as he can and wraps his arms around her right there, next to a row of parked cars.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to her, stroking her hair. “I got you. It’s okay.”

“He-e’s _dead_ ,” Toni hiccups, hyperventilating. “I’ll n-never get to talk to him, or ask him any questions…”

“I know, Tones. It’s horrible.”

“Why did he leave me?” she sobs.

“It’s like I told you the other day,” Amir says, his heart aching like it’s going to burst. “He was just human.”

Toni continues to cry into his shoulder, her warm tears soaking his sleeve.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Amir says. “I shouldn’t have done this without telling your parents. Fuck. We’re gonna go home and tell them right now, okay? Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, hiccuping again.

“Get in the passenger side,” Amir says. “You’re not in any condition to drive if you have to.”

“You a-aren’t either, you’re pregnant.”

“I’m fine.” Amir nudges her. “Get in the car, drink some water, take a deep breath. We’ll blast sad music and drive on the PCH, okay?”

Toni squeezes him tighter. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says.

“I never should have done it.”

“I know, but I’m glad you did. You’re the only person I would have wanted here.”

Amir, touched, strokes her hair again. His own eyes fill with tears, and he quickly wipes them away when Toni turns from him to start walking toward their car. He suddenly misses Louis so much he can hardly breathe.

*

By the time they get back to the house, Toni is a lot more calm. She cried herself out in the car, weeping silently in the passenger seat with her window rolled down, breathing in the salt air. Amir didn’t know what to do besides hold her hand, so that’s what he did.

When they roll into the driveway, Toni hiccups and wipes at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to tell them,” she says.

“Yeah,” Amir mutters. “I don’t want to, either.”

“You think they’re gonna be mad at me?”

“I think they’re gonna be more mad at me than they are at you.”

“Really? Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Amir says. “I’m the adult here.”

He feels very protective of her right now, and strangely, he feels like he has to atone for Frank by protecting her. He finds a pack of Kleenexes in the console and hands them to her.

“Thanks,” Toni says, using them to dab her face.

“We should go in,” Amir says. “This won’t get any easier.”

He checks his watch as he levers himself out of the car. He has a text from Evan that says _marlena said you guys went to pick up baby stuff, can you get more liners for the potty chair?_

Amir feels a pang of guilt. He reacts to the text with a like, so Evan won’t think he’s ignoring him, then follows Toni inside the house. The adrenaline he got earlier had numbed him for a while, but now he’s coming down from it, and he’s realizing how much discomfort he’s in — searing lower back pain, sore feet, random stomach cramps, and the ever-present heartburn.

They walk through the entryway, passing the grand foyer table with its vase of fresh-cut flowers, and head deeper into the house. When they near the sitting room, they hear the TV going, and Zayn and Harry talking quietly.

Toni freezes again, like she did earlier.

“Tones,” Amir says quietly.

“Okay,” she says, and inhales before climbing the step that leads into the sitting room.

Amir follows her.

“Hi,” Harry says when he sees them. Zayn takes a few seconds to tear his gaze away from the TV, then looks at them expectantly when he does.

There’s a beat of wretched silence where no one speaks, and the air is so thick with anticipation that it seems to have weight and volume.

“Toni has something to tell you guys,” Amir says, putting a hand on Toni’s shoulder as a show of support.

Toni inhales again, then starts crying.

“Sweetheart,” Harry says, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything alright?” Zayn says, glancing between them. “Out with it, please. Not pregnant, are you?”

“Who, me?” Amir jokes, and Toni chokes out a laugh. “No, she’s not pregnant. Just tell them, okay?”

He can’t take being on his feet any longer, not after the exhausting photoshoot this morning, so he goes over and takes a seat on an ottoman a few feet away from the couch. Zayn shoots him a questioning look, but Amir doesn’t take his eyes off of Toni.

She twists her hands together, playing with her rings, then lets out a choppy exhale. “Okay,” she says. “I, um… I just met my birth mom.”

Harry and Zayn sit in stunned silence for a moment.

“What d’you mean?” Zayn says. “ _Met_ her, like in person?”

“Yeah. I met her at a coffee shop. Amir went with me.”

Harry’s head swivels slowly, terrifyingly in Amir’s direction, and they lock eyes. He doesn’t have a single ounce of affection or warmth on his face as he looks at Amir. Suddenly he’s a glacier.

“You and Amir,” Zayn says, “went to go meet some strange woman, without telling us, without taking security?”

“You could have been kidnapped and murdered!” Harry bellows, getting to his feet and drawing himself up to his full height.

“In a coffee shop?” Amir says.

“I don’t want to hear from you!” Harry screams, wheeling on him. “I don’t want to hear your fucking sarcasm! Shut up!”

Amir is cowed into silence. Harry’s never spoken to him like that before, not once.

“Harry, Harry,” Zayn says, grabbing at his waist. “Where’d you find this woman, Toni? Do you even know she’s who she says she is?”

“I found her through my biological half-sister,” Toni says. “On an ancestry site.”

“We didn’t give you permission to use an ancestry site,” Harry says. “We were still discussing that. We never okayed that.”

“I okayed it for myself!” Toni screams at him. “I okayed me finding out who I am, I don’t need your permission for that!”

“You need my permission for things you aren’t legally old enough to do!”

“I shouldn’t! Not for this!”

“What did she want?” Zayn interrupts. “Money? What?”

“She didn’t want anything!” Toni shouts, tears streaming down her face. “She just wanted to find me, and she wanted me to know the truth!”

“What truth?” Harry says.

“That my dad is dead! That the guy who gave birth to me is dead, he died of a drug overdose! And she didn’t know I was hers, and when she found out she tried to find me, but she couldn’t, ‘cos I got adopted so fast!”

Toni dissolves into more tears after she says this, and Zayn gets up and goes to her, pulling her into a hug. Harry turns away, his hands on his hips, staring out the window that faces the ocean.

Amir doesn’t know what to do, so he just sits there.

Zayn draws back from Toni and takes her by the shoulders. “You should never ‘ave done that,” he says. “That was extremely unsafe. You should have told us you wanted to meet this woman, we would have understood.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she sobs. “Amir’s the only one who could have understood.”

Amir cringes at being singled out right now, and this comment earns him another disgusted glare from Harry.

“Why don’t you go upstairs,” Zayn says to Toni. “Go take a shower and lie down for a bit. You’re very upset. You need a breather.”

Toni hiccups again and nods.

“I’ll be up to check on you,” Zayn says, and guides her back into the hall. “We need to talk to Amir for a bit.”

“Please don’t be mad at him,” Toni says. “He was just trying to help me. He wanted to tell you, he kept telling me to tell you. I only told him after I took the test, and I made him promise not to tell —”

“Go upstairs,” Zayn says, his voice stern.

Toni makes brief eye contact with Amir, then heads down the hall toward the staircase. They wait in silence until they hear her feet overhead, and then Harry rounds on Amir.

“ _What were you thinking_ ,” he bellows at him. “What the _fuck_ was going through your thick head?”

Amir takes a deep breath, but his voice still shakes when he starts to speak. “I was thinking that she came to me because she trusted me,” he says. “I didn’t want to betray that trust.”

“You’ve got a duty to betray that trust when it’s about her safety and well-being,” Zayn snaps. “Honestly, what the fuck are you going on about? This is ridiculous behavior, Amir.”

“I’m not telling you guys to feel differently,” Amir says. “I’m just asking you to look at this from my perspective.”

“What perspective?” Zayn says. “The perspective of someone who thinks they know better than us, ‘cos they’ve been a parent for all of three years? And not exactly a great parent for about half that time!”

This really stings. “‘Cos you were such a great parent when me and Mia were young, Dad?” he snaps.

“This isn’t about me,” Zayn says. “This is about your arrogance. This is about you always thinking you know best. And you didn’t get that from me, that’s for fuckin’’ sure.”

“Maybe not the second part, but you’re plenty arrogant!”

“Oh, so what?” Zayn says, his face lighting up with anger. “So you’re punishing me, then? Visiting my sins as a father on me? This is what I get in exchange for helping you through your relapse, giving you and your husband and child free room and board whenever you ask for it? This is the thanks Harry and I get for doling out money to you for the last two decades of your life? You spit in our fuckin’ faces like this?”

“I’m not trying to spit in your faces!”

Harry turns back toward him, still looking furious. “Well, you have,” he says. “I’m tired of this, Amir. I’m so fucking tired of this disrespect from you, and now you’ve gone too far. You can’t use my children to prove some sort of point to me, I won’t allow it.”

“This had nothing to do with me!” Amir cries. “I swear to God, I wasn’t trying to do anything to you guys — this was about Toni, and that’s it! I told her a dozen times that she needed to tell you, but I was the only person she felt like she could confide in!”

“You should’ve come to us,” Zayn says, his face stony. “She’s a teenager, she’s under our roof. She doesn’t get to make calls on what we do and don’t know about her life, not when it comes to shit like this.”

“I know. I know. I told her that.”

“You do not know better than we do about our child,” Harry says.

“I know I don’t,” Amir says. “Please, guys, seriously. Please.” He’s started to cry, himself; the emotions of guilt and shame are always running close to the surface of his skin to begin with, and now they’re both bubbling over. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve broken _our_ trust in you,” Zayn says. “Again. I can’t stand this, Amir, I can’t stand this lying to me shit.”

“Did you already know, the other night?” Harry says. “When you pushed me to let Toni take the test, did you know she already had?”

“Yes,” Amir says.

Zayn throws his hands up. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Amir wipes his cheeks, and a little bit of anger flares up amidst the guilt and shame. Before he can stop himself, he’s saying, “You should have just let her take it in the first place, though.”

“Excuse me?” Harry demands.

“You should have.” Amir meets his eyes. “She deserved to know where she came from. Everyone should know that. You can’t control everything in the world, Harry. She would have done it whether she told me about it or not. She would have met up with her mother whether I went with her or not. You’re just lucky someone who cares about her was supervising this whole thing.”

Harry comes over to him and squats in front of him, staring him down. “Get out,” he says.

Amir stares back at him, uncomprehending.

“Out,” Harry barks, pointing toward the hallway. “Go. Go back to the guesthouse. I don’t want to see you in my home. The second Louis gets back, you go stay with him. _Get out_.”

Getting to his feet is awkward, arduous and mortifying. Neither Zayn nor Harry move to help him. Amir heads for the front door as fast as he can go, his eyes, cheeks and ears stinging like he’s been tear-gassed.

*

As soon as the front door shuts behind Amir, Harry sinks down on the couch with his face in his hands.

“I think he was right,” he says, sounding anguished.

“No,” Zayn says, angrier now than he was a moment ago. “No, he wasn’t right. That was fuckin’ pure Louis, a hundred percent. That sanctimonious, holier-than-thou garbage, that _meddling,_ that was all Louis. And it’s wrong.”

“But Louis is usually right,” Harry says.

“No he fuckin’ isn’t!”

“Can you name a time when he wasn’t?”

Zayn’s memory traitorously chooses this moment to go blank. “I don’t need to,” he says defensively. “Amir wasn’t right, and that’s the point.”

“Of course he wasn’t right to do what he did, but he’s right that Toni should know where she comes from, and he’s right that I try to control things that I can’t control.”

“Trust me, Harry, half-assed psychoanalysis is a hobby for addicts,” Zayn says. “Don’t read so much into it.”

“I’m not,” Harry says, giving him a weak smile. “I just know when I’ve been accurately speared.”

“You haven’t been,” Zayn says, furious at his son for hitting Harry in a weak spot when he’s already down.

“You don’t find me controlling? _You_? You’ve _told_ me I’m controlling.”

“No I haven’t,” Zayn lies.

“No? How about all these arguments we’ve had about Lena this past year, about how I’m trying to make her into a model and an actress against her own best interests?”

“I’m allowed to feel that way and say those things,” Zayn says. “I’m her parent. Amir’s not Toni’s parent. And he’s not your husband, so he can’t say those things to you.”

Harry laughs. “Still, though. You think I don’t realize that for the last fifty years, everyone’s had the same exact complaints and criticisms about my personality? You don’t think it’s occurred to me that there must be a nugget of truth somewhere in there?”

Zayn truly doesn’t know how to respond to this. Harry leans back against the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

“I feel awful about talking to Amir like that,” he says. “Especially when he’s due to have a baby any minute now.”

“Being knocked up can’t be a get out of jail free card,” Zayn says.

“You’re being awfully hard on him,” Harry says.

“I’m sick of my only son lettin’ me down. That’s all it is. I don’t want to get into it beyond that.”

Harry nods. “I’ve been sensing for a while, anyway, that me and him were headed for a bad confrontation… unstoppable force meets immovable object.” He’s quiet for a moment. “One of us should go check on Toni.”

“I’ll go,” Zayn says. “You calm down. Have a drink or something.”

“Not a terrible idea,” Harry says.

Zayn goes upstairs and heads for the girls’ wing. He hears talking from Marlena’s room, and knocks on the door. The talking trails off.

“Girls?” he says. “Toni?”

“Yeah,” Toni calls.

“Can I come in?”

“Okay.”

Zayn opens the door. Marlena and Toni are sitting on the clamshell bed together, with Toni leaning on Marlena’s shoulder while Marlena strokes her hair.

“Hi,” Marlena says, eyeing him.

“I’m assuming she’s told you what happened,” Zayn says, leaning in the doorway.

They both nod.

“You alright, Toni?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Toni says.

“Alright. Just making sure.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“We’ll discuss that later,” Zayn says.

“Is Amir in trouble?” Toni says, sounding worried.

“Amir’s a grown man,” Zayn says. “When you’re his age, trouble is gettin’ arrested, things like that, not something you get from your parents.”

“But you could kick him out,” Marlena says. “Will you?”

“‘Cos we don’t want him to go,” Toni adds.

“Yeah, we really don’t,” Marlena says. “And we want to meet the baby.”

Zayn sighs. “For now, he’s still in the guesthouse. We’ll see what happens.”

Toni sniffs. “I feel guilty.”

“It’s not your fault.” Zayn clears his throat. “I’ll give you girls some privacy, but Toni, me and your dad will want to have a chat about this when we’re all a bit less upset.”

Toni nods. “I figured.”

“Okay.” Zayn drums his knuckles on the door, right under the pearl-encrusted M that Marlena has hung on it. “Carry on,” he says, and pulls it shut behind him.

THE 16TH ARRONDISSEMENT OF PARIS, AUGUST 6, 2044

Louis and Liam are getting ready to head out to a victory dinner with Sunday, Julio and the twins when there’s a knock at their hotel room door.

“Who’s that?” Louis calls, glancing up at Liam, who’s in the bathroom shaving.

“Aya,” calls Aya.

“Come in, love,” Louis says, waving his wrist at the door so it unlocks.

Aya comes in, looking antsy, and smiles at both of them. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they chorus.

“I thought you and Mia were already out to dins,” Liam says, hitting his razor on the sink bowl.

“I wanted to come by and talk to Louis first,” Aya says.

“Oh?” Louis says. He gestures to the edge of the bed that he’s currently sitting on. “Let’s chat.”

Aya takes a seat beside him, pauses a moment, then hands him something. It’s an open ring box, with an engagement ring seated in its cushions.

“Shit,” Louis says, surprised.

“Yeah,” Aya says, sounding sheepish.

“This isn’t for me, is it?” Louis teases her. “‘Cos I’m taken.”

Aya laughs. “I got this today, while the rest of you were at lunch,” she says.

“Sneaky,” Louis says. She had told them she needed a nap.

Aya smiles, then her face becomes serious. “Yasmeen and I have discussed this, of course, we’re both on the same page, but I hadn’t wanted to formalize the engagement until next year. But she’s so happy today, and we’re in Paris…”

Louis nods. “Sure.”

“So… do I have your blessing to ask her?”

“Of course!”

Aya looks relieved. “I tried to call Zayn to ask him, too, but he didn’t pick up.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, he’s not the most reachable person. He loves you, though, we both do, so take my blessing on his behalf.” He pulls her into a hug, and she squeezes him.

“Thank you,” Aya says softly.

“Don’t even give it a second thought. Go on, go do it before you lose your nerve.” Louis claps her on the shoulder and draws back from her. “Where are you bringing her, tonight?”

“We were going to get dinner, then go for a walk in the park below the Eiffel tower,” Aya says. “I thought I’d do it then.”

“Sounds lovely,” Louis says. “Let us know as soon as it’s done, please. I hate keeping secrets.”

Aya grins. “Will do.” She gets up, smoothing her skirt as she does. “Have a nice dinner.”

“You too,” Louis says, handing her back the ring box. “Lovely ring, by the way.”

“Thank you!”

“Good luck, Aya!” Liam calls from the bathroom as he slaps aftershave onto his cheeks.

“Thanks!”

The door swings shut behind her, and Liam lets out a whoop of excitement. “What a day,” he says. “Our daughter killed it at the Olympics, and now our Mims is getting married?”

Louis smiles with pleasure at his generous use of ‘our.’ He becomes aware of a buzzing on his wrist, and turns his watch face over to see that there’s an incoming call from Amir.

He shakes his wrist at his earpiece. “Hullo?”

“Dad?” Amir says, sounding tearful.

Louis’ heart drops. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Amir says, sniffling. “Dad and Harry just screamed at me and kicked me out.”

“ _What?_ When you’re due to have a baby any moment? Why?”

Liam looks over at Louis in curiosity, so he puts his watch on speaker. In the background, he hears Evan saying, “Can I explain?” and then Amir’s watch goes on speaker as well.

“Hi Louis,” Evan says. “We didn’t get kicked out. Amir’s just temporarily banned from the main house, that’s all. We’re still in the guesthouse, everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Louis says, and his jacked-up heartbeat slows down. “Why, what’s happened, what did he do?”

“He took Toni to go meet her birth mother without telling Zayn or Harry,” Evan says. “Or me,” he adds, sounding peeved.

“Amir!” Louis exclaims. Liam comes out of the bathroom with a scandalized expression, flipping the light off as he does. He takes a seat on the bed next to Louis.

“You’re leaving so much out of that story,” Amir hollers in the background. “You’re making me sound like an asshole.”

“No matter how you phrase it, that’s quite an asshole move,” Louis says. “Am I gonna have to smooth this over for you?”

“I don’t want you to,” Amir says. “I don’t want things smoothed over. They’re both dickheads, and I’m sick of them.”

“Amir, you don’t mean that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes to Liam, who pets his head in reply.

“No, I do. Dad said I’m an annoying, arrogant know-it-all like you are, and Harry called me thick and disrespectful.”

Louis is entirely inoculated to Zayn’s barbs at this point; this one doesn’t even penetrate. “Your dad just likes to run his mouth when he’s angry, and Harry’s got a point,” he says. “You can be disrespectful. You’re the furthest thing from thick, but you like to pretend to be thick sometimes, which is even worse. Why would you do something like that?”

“Because she swore me to secrecy about the whole thing, and asked me to come with her when she went to go meet her mom!”

“Oh, Amir, being sworn to secrecy doesn’t mean anything when you’re talking about a minor. Christ. You’re a grown adult, you’ve got a duty to protect her from herself.”

“What about her, though?” Amir demands. “Does Toni not have a right to privacy, or trust in her older brother, or the right to know who she is?”

“Of course she does, but you put her safety at risk when you took her to meet a stranger who could have had ulterior motives,” Louis says.

“I didn’t! We met this woman at a public place, and I was with her! And she didn’t have ulterior motives, she was perfectly nice!”

“But you only know these things after the fact,” Louis says, reaching over and squeezing Liam’s thigh. “Imagine how scared Zayn and Harry feel, thinking about what could have happened?”

“I get it! I’m a parent, too!”

“If you get it, then why did you do it?”

“Because Toni asked me to, and I didn’t want to let her down,” Amir says, sounding exhausted. “I knew I shouldn’t do it. I told her over and over that we shouldn’t do it.”

“That’s always been your problem, Amir, you know perfectly well what you should and shouldn’t do, and then you manage to do the wrong thing anyway,” Louis says. “I don’t understand it. You’re brighter than the rest of us put together — what the fuck?”

“Obviously, there’s something wrong with my brain,” Amir says flatly, and Louis laughs. “Anyway, Harry told me to go stay with you as soon as you were back.”

“Christ,” Louis says. The meaning of this is so transparent that it’s Harry’s version of a middle finger: _Hullo Louis, your mutt offspring with Zayn is ripping up our curtains and piddling on the carpet, please remove him from my perfect house._ “Of course you three are welcome to stay with us any time, I’m just not sure how soon we’ll be back. Sunday got a lucky break today and probably contributed toward her team being in the medals, so it might be nice to stay for the closing ceremony. It’s probably best if I just talk to Zayn and Harry and try to work this out.”

Amir sniffs. “You don’t have to. It’s my mess.”

“I know you meant well,” Louis says. “But you understand that you’ve just stuck your dick in a wasp’s nest, yeah? We’ve got a fragile peace in this blended family, and keepin’ that peace sort of depends on each of us not massively insulting any of the others, if we can manage it.”

“It wasn’t my intention to insult anyone,” Amir says, sounding sulky.

“To put it to you bluntly, Harry’s got a hard time being around pregnant people as it is, ‘cos of what it reminds him of,” Louis says. “Now, on top of that, think about what you did — not only did you remind him he didn’t give birth to Toni, but you went behind his back to have her meet the person who did, without him knowing.”

Amir clears his throat. “We didn’t meet the person who did. Her mom’s an alpha, she fathered her. Her dad’s an omega. He’s dead, he died of a drug overdose.”

“Oh, shit,” Louis says, glancing at Liam, who looks as surprised as he feels. “What a pisser… how’d Toni take that?”

“Not well,” Amir says. “Pretty badly, actually. I tried to comfort her.”

“I’m sure you did, lad. I know you love your sisters.”

“I really do!”

“Listen, Louis,” Evan says. “We can let you go, I know it’s kind of late over there…”

“Only half six,” Louis says.

Liam mouths ‘dinner reservations’ and makes an apologetic face.

“Actually, shit, yeah, let us go,” Louis says. “We’ve got dinner. But Amir, I’m gonna call your dad later, alright? We’ll chat. I’ll get him calmed down.”

“Thanks,” Amir says, sounding glum.

“You just rest up and don’t stress yourself out too much, alright? Make sure you eat and drink plenty.”

“I’m making him,” Evan puts in.

“Cheers. And Amir, don’t text your sister about this, alright?”

Amir sniffles. “Why not?”

“‘Cos Aya’s proposing to her tonight, and I don’t want her mood fucked up from worryin’.”

“Aww, is she really?” Amir says, sounding happy. “Okay, yeah, I won’t text her.”

“Much appreciated. Talk to you later.” Louis hangs up. “Christ! Christ up a chimney! What sort of dipshit behavior is that? Can you imagine?”

Liam visibly hesitates, then winces in the way he does when he’s about to say something he knows isn’t going to go over well, but can’t stop himself from saying it.

“Out with it,” Louis says impatiently.

“I don’t see the harm in what he did, really,” Liam says.

“Oh, Payno. Come on.”

“Well, I mean, the lying part is bad, obviously, but people should know their birth parents. I thought it was fucking weird, quite frankly, that Zayn and Harry were refusing to let her even take an ancestry test.” Liam looks at Louis from under his eyelashes. “Didn’t you?”

“I disagreed with the decision, but I get why they made it,” Louis says. “They’re more famous than we are, they live in the center of it all, they’ve got even more reason than we do to worry about people preying on their kids. And unfortunately, biology without history is fairly meaningless, and sometimes biology causes some unsavory people to come out of the woodwork.”

“Mmm,” Liam says. “Okay. I’m getting the feeling you and Zayn’ve discussed this one.”

“Just a bit,” Louis says, feeling defensive. “Yeah, we talked, in terms of my own experiences, and his. You know it, too. It happens.”

Liam stands up, stretching. “I do tend to give biology a fair amount of credit,” he says.

“I know you do,” Louis says, looking up at him. “So then how d’you justify calling Sunday ‘our’ daughter? I had nothing to do with creating her.”

Liam leans over and kisses Louis on the top of his head. “You’re just _that_ powerful, Tommo,” he says, and Louis snorts.

MALIBU, AUGUST 6, 2044

Toni, Zayn and Harry gather on the patio once they’ve all calmed down, under the canopied area alongside the pool house. 

Harry’s still upset, but not too upset to listen to her recounting of what happened. He sits cross-legged on a lounge, clutching a waterproof patio cushion to his chest for comfort while she tells them the whole story.

When she’s finished, they’re both silent. Toni’s gaze darts back and forth between them.

“Amir really did think it was a terrible idea,” she says. “He thought it was sketchy, and he didn’t want to do it. I guilted him into it.”

Zayn exhales. “He was still the adult in the situation.”

Harry gazes past the infinity pool, out at the ocean and brilliant blue sky. Distant palm trees sway in the corners of his vision, tugged to and fro by a light breeze.

“So you know who your biological mother is, now,” he says with difficulty. “And she knows who we are.”

“Look, you guys are my parents, always,” Toni says. “I just had to know.”

“We get that,” Zayn says.

“I’m not looking for another family.” Toni gestures, then folds her hands. “This is my family. You guys are my family. But, like… God, I don’t know how to explain it, but my entire life I felt like something was missing.”

Harry looks down at his hands, playing with his rings. Hot tears are rising in his eyes.

“Not like I didn’t have something,” she says. “You’ve given me everything. I do get how lucky I am. I just… I always had this feeling that something bad happened, and I had no idea what it was. It stalked me, you know? It was always hanging in the back of my head. I know you guys think I’m, like, funny, and easygoing, and chill, and I am, but part of that…”

Toni breaks off, sounding choked up. Zayn goes over to her and sits beside her, rubbing her shoulder until she recovers.

“Part of that,” she says emotionally, “is ‘cos I felt like I had to make up for something. Like if I wasn’t good enough, I’d get abandoned again.”

“We would never abandon you,” Harry says, tears leaking down his cheeks. He feels grief in his chest like a softball lodged there. “You’re our child. We love you unconditionally and completely.”

“I know,” Toni cries. “I know, I know, but it’s just an instinct. It’s just this… this feeling I have, way deep down, that I’m never safe, like I’m always on the edge of a cliff. And now I know! Now I get it. My father abandoned me, and then he died, and the rest of my birth family couldn’t find me. Do you understand what a relief that is to finally know? It’s horrible, and sad, and stuff, but it’s such a big relief to just _know_.”

Zayn strokes her hair and nods. “We never knew you felt like that,” he says, his voice husky. “When you went to therapy, you never even told the therapist you felt like that.”

“ _I_ didn’t know I felt like that,” Toni says, pointing to her own chest. “I couldn’t put it into words for the longest time. How can you know something’s missing when you never had it to begin with?”

Harry stares at the terra-cotta tile beneath his feet.

“I’m a happy person, I promise,” she says. “I have a great life, I know that. It’s just that not knowing where I came from was like termites, or something. Like it ate away at me my entire life, and I knew I had to do something to stop it, but you guys kept telling me I couldn’t.”

“I get it,” Zayn says. “I really do. But you can’t lie to us. We’ve got to have trust on both sides of this relationship.”

“I know,” Toni says.

“Harry and I have talked, and we think it’s fair for you to be grounded for the next three weeks,” Zayn says. “And we need you to be aware that you’ve broken our trust, and that’s gonna take some time for you to earn back. Beyond that, we want you back in therapy. Not as a punishment, but just so you’ve got a professional to process all this shit with.” He looks to Harry. “Anythin’ else?”

When Harry finds his voice, it’s hoarse. “Zayn and I want to talk to Gina ourselves,” he says. “We need to draw some boundaries with her, and have our security team background check her. You’re not to see her again until that’s finished, and if she contacts you, we want to know about it.”

“Okay,” Toni says. “I mean, I figured.”

She hesitates, then gets up and goes over to Harry, hugging him. Harry hugs her tight, more tears leaking from his eyes as he does. He clutches at her and strokes her hair, sniffing.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispers. “I love you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Harry chokes out. “I love you too. Always.”

Toni straightens up, wiping her own eyes. “I’m gonna go take a nap,” she says.

“Okay,” Harry says. A numbness is starting to settle over him, now. “Get some rest.”

She walks away toward the patio toward, her flip-flops clacking on the tile and the beads at the ends of her braids clicking together. They wait until the door has shut behind her, and then Harry lets out a labored sigh.

“So,” Zayn says. “Frank the heroin addict.”

“You know what that means?” Harry says.

“What?”

“She and Marlena both have a genetic predisposition toward addiction.”

Zayn shoots him a lopsided smile. “It’s not uncommon.”

“I know.” Harry sets the pillow aside and leans over his lap, rubbing at his forehead. “What a fucking can of worms.”

“Gina sounded normal, at least.”

“What passes for normal?” Harry says, his voice muffled by his linen trousers. “Who meets a seventeen-year-old without their parents’ permission?”

“If it were your child, would you wait one extra second?” Zayn says.

“Yes,” Harry says. “As painful and difficult as it would be, yes.”

“Well, you’re cracked, we know this. Most people haven’t got your level of self-control.”

Harry snorts.

“At least this all happened _now_ ,” Zayn says. “Can you imagine if her mum had come out of the woodwork when she was a baby? Challenged her adoption? Christ. We wouldn’t’ve stood a chance. A college professor who’s the biological parent, versus two high school dropout pop stars who came out of nowhere?”

Harry doesn’t like to think about how easily Toni could have slipped through his fingers. He lifts his head and says, “What do we do about Amir?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and shrugs.

“C’mon, Zayn… he’s about to give birth to your grandchild.”

“Let me stay angry at him for a few days,” Zayn says. “I lose all authority and credibility if I back down straightaway. In the meantime, he can talk to us through Evan.”

Harry nods. “Just, y’know, hearing what we did about Toni’s birth father… I dunno. I worry about him.”

Zayn meets his eyes, looking stern. “You think I don’t? But the answer to bein’ worried about somebody isn’t to let them get away with whatever behavior they feel like.”

“I know. I do.” Harry’s quiet for a moment. “You know what else occurred to me?”

“What?”

“Our private investigator is absolutely fucking useless, isn’t he?”

Zayn lets out a sharp, surprised laugh. “Ah… yeah. You’ve got a point, there.”

“I mean, honestly,” Harry says. “How did he miss this? He told me he exhausted every last lead, that he had no way of finding out who abandoned Toni.”

“Apparently every last lead didn’t include interviewing all the drug addicts at local parks,” Zayn says. “Makes sense for the parents to be the ones who figured out what happened, though. A parent’ll do anything for their kids, even after the kid is dead.”

Harry looks over at Zayn, whose expression is drawn and sad. He imagines Frank abandoning Toni at a fire station, wrapping her in a blanket before crawling away to die in a halfway house. He feels another sharp stab of regret for having yelled at Amir, and he turns and looks behind himself at the guesthouse across the property.

“Maybe I’ve been bottlin’ some things up,” Zayn says.

Harry turns to him, lifting his eyebrows.

Zayn lets out a strangled sigh. “When it comes to Amir, I mean. I don’t think I was only angry at him over this. I think I’ve been angry at him for a long time… angry at him for running away, for getting into drugs, angry at him for relapsing last year. I’m just so sick of worrying about him, sick of bein’ afraid for the worst.”

“I understand,” Harry says.

Zayn meets his eyes. “I feel sorry for that poor bastard’s parents,” he says. “Frank, I mean. I’m sure they’d like to meet Toni, if they’re still alive.”

“I’m sure they would… we can cross that bridge when we get there.” Harry gets to his feet, rubbing his eyes, which are hot and itchy from crying. “I’m gonna have a glass of wine. You want to join me? Have a glass of tonic water?”

“Actually, I was going to smoke some weed right here on the patio, if you’d like to bring your wine out and join me,” Zayn says.

“Cheers. I’ll be back in five.”

Zayn’s watch starts buzzing; he glances down at it and then taps _Decline._

Harry raises his eyebrows at him.

“Lou,” he explains. “I don’t feel like talking to him, right now.”

“Alright,” Harry says,

PARIS, AUGUST 6, 2044

Mia notices at dinner that Aya seems distracted and not fully present, but she chalks it up to the fact that she’s on vacation. Aya is a workaholic who tends to get nervous when she feels like she’s not contributing.

They have a lovely dinner, though — discussing Sunday’s earlier triumph, drinking wine and gossiping about stuff they’ve seen while wandering around Olympic Village. They get accosted by French paps on their way out of the restaurant, which sours Mia’s mood a little, but her bodyguard efficiently dispatches them. None of the paps seem to care enough to chase down their car, either, thank God. Mia watches out of the back window as they cross over the _Pont d'Iéna_ , but doesn’t spot anything out of the ordinary.

She turns back to Aya, who smiles at her, her eyes twinkling. Mia reaches out to take her hand. She feels fuzzy and warm from the wine, and content from all the French bread and cheese in her stomach. 

“I’m so happy right now,” she says.

Aya smiles bigger. “Yeah?”

“Very, yeah.”

Aya brings Mia’s hand to her mouth and kisses her knuckles. “Me too.”

When their self-driving Uber reaches the sprawling green park that unfolds in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, they disembark while holding hands and head for the center to get a better view. Mia’s seen the Eiffel before, but she’s always awed by the size of it in person, and cranes her neck to gaze at it as they walk. A summer’s night in Paris is so sparkly and enchanting; she feels like anything could happen.

“I wonder how they built this,” she says, barely even registering that Aya’s hand has slipped out of hers. “Cranes, right? Or did they just stack pieces on top of the other pieces as they went? ‘Cos it comes to a point, like the pyramids, and they obviously didn’t use cranes to build the pyramids. Hey, d’you remember when we went on that tour of the Nile, and there was that guy who was totally convinced you were Egyptian? That was so weird.”

Mia continues babbling until she realizes that Aya is completely silent. She wheels around in alarm, and sees that Aya is bent on one knee in the grass, holding up a box with a ring inside.

“Hi,” Aya says, looking sheepish.

“What — oh!” Mia exclaims. “Oh, shit! _Now?_ You’re serious?”

Aya laughs. “Why would I not be serious?”

“I dunno! Fuck! I wasn’t expecting — I dunno, I thought this would be next year, I thought you had a whole plan.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been so happy today, I thought it was the perfect moment,” Aya says, and gets to her feet. “This grass is scratchy, sorry. Can I —” She offers the ring in its box.

“Yeah, yeah!” Mia holds out her right hand, then her left. “Sorry.”

Aya slips the ring onto Mia’s ring finger. Her whole hand is shaking, and she can’t stop laughing; it bursts out of her like hiccups.

“I know you know how I feel about you,” Aya says, meeting her eyes. “I just wanted to say, you know…” She exhales. “Sorry. I’m so nervous, I don’t even know why.”

“Me too,” Mia admits, and they both laugh.

“You’re just such a special person,” Aya says, gazing at her. “And you think you’re not, which is a big part of it.”

Intrusively, a lyric bursts into Mia’s brain: _You don’t know you’re beautiful, that’s what makes you beautiful._ She laughs, then clamps her lips together.

Aya reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. “You give my life meaning,” she says, sounding choked up. “I know that’s cliche, but you do. I’m not myself without you around. Those years we were apart, I was a shadow of who I was when I had you. You see me, you protect me, you make me laugh, you make me feel safe. You’re completely yourself, and you make everyone around you be more themselves. I want you by my side for the rest of my life, and I want to be by your side. I want to be partners in life with you, officially.”

Mia’s so choked up that she can’t do anything but nod frantically.

“You know what else I love about you?” Aya says, smiling wider. “You haven’t even looked at the ring yet.”

They both crack up laughing, and Mia holds out her hand so she can examine it.

“Oh, Aya,” she says, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I know you wouldn’t want anything ostentatious,” Aya says. “It’s a vintage ring in a princess cut… simple and classic.”

“Yeah, it’s perfect. Should I go buy you one too, now?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Aya says, then winks at her before whispering: “And I like ostentatious.”

“I know you do.”

Mia brings her in for a kiss. It’s one of the best kisses of her life; two souls meeting at the junction of their warm mouths, Paris street lights pouring over them, the warm summer wind whipping at their hair and clothes.

*

Sunday and Julio were already out getting celebratory drinks with the rest of the USET, so Liam and Louis take their own Uber over to meet them at the restaurant. As they’re pulling up to the side entrance, Louis squeezes Liam’s thigh and asks him, “Do you want to tell Sunday about the money tonight?”

“Oh,” Liam says, looking uncomfortable. “Ah… maybe. Maybe.”

“I think you should, since I spilled the beans to the other kids.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.”

Louis smiles at him. “Besides, I’d like to take Julio aside and ask him about, y’know, what we talked about. So while I’m doing that, it’d be a good time for you to talk to Sunday.”

“Okay,” Liam relents. “I’ll try. If the proper moment arises.”

“No, you’ll do it tonight, please, ‘cos I don’t want to continue keeping this a secret from her.”

Liam heaves a massive sigh before getting out of the car.

He orders a double gin and tonic once they’re seated at their table, and Louis orders a beer. Sunday and Julio demur, at first, but Louis insists that they at least each have a beer.

“One beer,” Sunday relents.

“Maybe I’ll have two,” Julio says, smiling. “Get a little crazy.”

“You’ve both earned it,” Louis says.

“What’s your title now, Julio?” Liam says. “I don’t think we’ve celebrated your promotion yet, actually.”

“You haven’t had the chance, I don’t think,” Julio says, glancing up from the drinks menu. “We’ve been so go-go-go for years now. When Sunday made the team, I signed on as a stable assistant, but a few months ago Clive took me on as his assistant coach.”

Liam extends his glass, and Julio laughs, clinking his water glass against Liam’s gin and tonic before toasting him.

“Did that come with a pay bump?” Louis says.

“Ah, _entonces_ ,” Julio demurs. “I do this job for the horses, not the money.”

“So that’s a no?”

Julio wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “Five grand more,” he says. “Not nothing, but _…_ ”

“The money’s all in sponsorship,” Sunday supplies.

“Of course,” Louis says. “True for all sports. Julio, ah… why don’t you come to the bar with me, and we’ll get you and Sunday your beers? I reckon it’ll be faster that way.”

Julio looks confused, but nods. “Sure,” he says, getting up.

Louis gets up, too, then leans over the booth to whisper in Liam’s ear, “I’m givin’ you a window here, to tell Sunday about the money. Are you gonna take it?”

“I am,” Liam whispers back, much less quietly. He’s already drunk. Louis really wishes he didn’t drink so much whenever he has to cope with Ceci-related business. It’s the only time he uncorks the self-destructive part of himself, anymore, but that part being uncorked at all makes Louis nervous.

He walks behind Julio as they make their way through the crowd of drunken French people until they reach the bar, where, serendipitously, two adjacent stools are empty. They have a seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hugo, who’s blending in with the crowd while keeping a close watch over them.

Louis orders one of the many pilsners off of the menu, butchering the French pronunciation, and Julio follows his lead (nailing the French pronunciation). The bartender nods at them and walks away.

“So,” Louis says, glancing over at Julio, who looks a little nervous. “Today was a good day, yeah? Culmination of a lot of years of hard work.”

Julio nods. “Sunday and Ulysses are very good together,” he says.

“Don’t be so modest. Me and Payno are well-aware of how integral you’ve been to this whole operation, and how loyal you’ve been to Sunday. We know you’ve had job offers, ones you probably would’ve taken if you weren’t so invested in her as an athlete and a person.”

“She’s got something special,” Julio says. “I do believe that. And she and I work well together.” He smiles. “Plus, the horse likes me.”

Louis laughs. “I appreciate loyalty,” he says.

“I know. I do too.”

“And I’d like to demonstrate that appreciation to you,” he continues. “Me and Payno both would.”

Julio looks apprehensive, now. Their beers land in front of them, and he takes a large sip that’s mostly foam. Shit pour job by the bartender.

Louis takes a quick sip of his Sunday’s beer, which wasn’t poured much better. He licks foam off his lips and says, “We’d like to help you bring your parents back to the States, if we can. We’d like to pay for a lawyer who could do that.”

Julio immediately begins shaking his head.

“What?”

“It’s too much money,” he says. “Trust me. I’ve been looking into this since I was sixteen.” The pained way he says this pierces Louis’ heart. “A really good lawyer, good enough to reverse two deportations… it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“We can take care of that,” Louis says gently.

“I can’t ask you to. It’s too much money. I — I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“What if Sunday and I broke up?” Julio says, glancing up at him, his dark eyes wide. “What if we have some kind of parting of the ways? And then you’ve spent all this money on me?”

“I’ve spent money on far, far dumber things than reuniting a family,” Louis says, smiling. “Are you in touch with your parents?”

Julio nods.

“How often do you talk?”

“Maybe once a month,” Julio says. “I send them money when I can.”

Louis feels another pang of empathy and recognition. “Where are they now?”

“Back home, in the Dominican Republic.”

“Would they like to come back here?”

Julio nods again. “They’d love to. They have jobs there, and a nice house — it’s not like what you’re probably thinking. But the flooding is so, so bad now. It’s not safe to live on an island, these days. Every time we have a tropical storm, I think, you know, maybe the last time I talked to them is the last time I’ll ever talk to them.”

He struggles to say this, and even in the dim lighting of the bar, Louis thinks he can see tears shining in Julio’s eyes.

“Take our help,” Louis urges him. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Julio says, looking pained. “It’s just too much money. Sunday’s offered the same thing, before. She told me she could talk to you and her dad, and ask them to pay for the lawyer, but I told her no.”

Louis nods. Someone behind him bumps into him, then apologizes in French; he lifts a hand to indicate they shouldn’t worry about it, since he doesn’t know how to say that in French.

“What if I told you that Sunday could easily pay for it?” he says.

Julio’s brow knits. “She can’t,” he says. “She doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“What if I told you she’s about to inherit fifty million?”

Julio had taken a sip of his beer right as Louis said this, and he chokes, foam dribbling over his lip. Louis pats him hard on the back.

“Fifty million _dollars_?” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Aye, those,” Louis says. “Would you take her help, in that case?”

“I — I don’t know. Is that actually happening?”

“Her mum wants to give her that much from her granddad’s inheritance, yeah. Why don’t we go back to the table? Liam’s been telling Sunday about this while we’ve been over here.” Louis pauses. “At least, I hope he has, otherwise this is gonna be a bit awkward.”

Julio laughs.

“Listen,” Louis says, and squeezes his shoulder. “I get your instinct to not want to take this money. It’s a fuckin’ lot of money, and I wouldn’t want to take it either, if I were you. At the same time, I’m beggin’ you to. Whether Sunday ends up getting this inheritance or not, we want to make this happen for you. Seriously, mate, money’s worthless if it can’t help people.”

Julio’s eyes shine more brightly. He puts his hand to his forehead, as if to cover this up. “You’re a good man,” he says. “This is very kind of you.”

“I’m just doing what’s right and human to do,” Louis says.

“Is it enough for me to say I’ll consider it?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Sleep on it, talk to Sunday, talk to your parents, do whatever you need to do.”

Julio brings his hand down from his face and extends it to Louis for a handshake, making firm eye contact as he does. He has tears running down his cheeks.

Louis takes his hand and shakes it, hard. “Wanna go back?”

Julio nods, wiping his face with his sleeve. They take their beers and return to the table, where they find Sunday looking stunned and Liam nervously shredding the paper napkin that came with his gin and tonics, creating a small pile of debris.

“Did you tell her?” Louis says to Liam.

Liam nods without looking up. Julio hesitates, then squeezes in next to Sunday.

“Good,” Louis says, squeezing in next to Liam, who positively reeks of gin. He slides Sunday’s beer across the table to her. “Right then. Air cleared, everyone’s on the same page, now we can enjoy dinner. Does anyone want an appetizer?”

His dazed dinner companions fumble around for their menus, then pick them up and stare at them unseeingly. After a moment, Julio whispers to Sunday, “Is it really fifty million dollars?”

“Yes,” Sunday whispers back.

Julio exhales shakily and crosses himself. “I think I’ll have that second beer after all,” he says.

“Attaboy,” Louis replies.

“You know what I actually want?” Liam says, while poring over the menu in front of him. “A cigarette.”

“Don’t reckon cigarettes are on the menu here, love,” Louis says.

“They could be,” Sunday says. “It’s France.”

Louis laughs, then glances up at her, studying her face. She still looks shocked and pale, but she seems alright otherwise. He mouths ‘you good?’ to her, and she nods.

*

Louis knows he should probably leave it until tomorrow, but he can’t stand waiting, so he calls Harry as soon as he and Liam get back to their hotel room. He would try again to call Zayn, but he’s not in the mood to be berated, and from the sound of it, that’s exactly what would happen.

“You don’t have to do this tonight,” Liam slurs while fumbling to undo his belt. Once he’s done so, he flips forward on the bed and lies there with his face in the sheets.

Louis ignores this. The phone rings a few more times, then Harry picks up. “‘Lo?”

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Hey,” Harry says, sounding strained.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“About Amir?”

“Sure,” Harry says.

“Right… is somebody in the room with you, or something?”

“Er, no, I actually just stepped outside.”

“What, you don’t want Zayn to know we’re talking?” Louis says, glancing over at Liam, who appears to be falling asleep.

“No, it’s not that,” Harry says. “It’s just he was all worked up, and I just got him relaxed, so I’d rather keep him that way.”

“Is that why he’s not answering my calls?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Don’t take it personally.”

Louis experiences a twinge of annoyance at this. “Right, well… I dunno if Amir apologized, but I wanted to apologize again on his behalf.”

“He did apologize,” Harry says, his tone clipped.

Liam is well and truly asleep now, and snoring into the bed. Louis lies down beside him. “I think he just got a bit carried away,” he says. “Y’know, he’s hormonal, he’s stressed, he wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry is silent.

“Not to make excuses for him,” Louis adds. “I’m just saying.”

“We can’t take disrespect like this in our own house, Lou.”

“I know. I know. I’m just sayin’, like, he didn’t mean it as disrespect.”

“But it _is_ disrespectful,” Harry says. “It is. And he’s always been disrespectful, but this is just too much. I had to draw the line somewhere.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you on any of this, mate. I’m glad you did draw the line, and I told him what he did was unacceptable.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. And he doesn’t mean the disrespect, you know he doesn’t. He just, y’know…”

“Thinks he’s smarter than the rest of us?” Harry supplies.

“Exactly,” Louis says, reaching out to stroke Liam’s hair. “Unfortunately, he often is.”

“Except when it comes to common sense,” Harry says, “which he’s profoundly lacking.”

“Well, I dunno about ‘profoundly’ _…_ ”

Harry’s quiet for a moment. “You know the most insulting part?” he says. “He and I had just, a few days ago, had this talk, where he told me he worries about me resenting him because he’s your son with Zayn. He was saying, y’know, if Evan had children with someone else, he’d resent them, and I reassured him that I didn’t, and I love him. And then he turns around and slaps me in the face.”

“He really didn’t mean it like that, Haz. I know him, I know he didn’t.”

“I know he didn’t, too! But regardless of how he meant it, it’s a slap in my face.”

“I do get it,” Louis says. “He gets that from Zayn.”

Harry laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Just the way you two keep blaming this on each other.”

“Well, I dunno where Zayn gets off blaming this on _me_ ,” Louis says, making a face.

“You don’t?”

“Oh, come off it!”

“Louis,” Harry intones. “You’ve never inserted yourself in a situation inappropriately? Come on. Are you forgetting what we literally came to blows over, a few years back?”

“I was _dragged_ into that situation by Zayn!”

“And Amir says he was dragged into this situation by Toni.”

Louis sighs, and Harry laughs harder. “You’re not really furious at him, are you? ‘Cos he loves you both dearly, and he’s sensitive.”

There’s a moment of quiet from Harry. “Furious is the wrong word,” he says. “Hurt and disappointed, more like. I just need some space from him while I process all this.”

“I get that. What d’you think you’re gonna do? Not about Amir, about the whole situation.”

“Ah... I suppose Zayn and I have to meet with this woman,” Harry says. “Gina.”

“Toni’s mum?”

“She’s not her mum,” Harry says crossly.

“Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“I dunno how I’m going to cope with this, honestly.”

Louis is surprised to hear Harry speak so vulnerably. “You’ll get through it,” he says. “You’re good at that.”

“Hmm,” Harry says, sounding amused. “But I’m feeling more fragile than usual, right now.”

“Yeah, Zayn had mentioned.”

“Had he?”

“Just in passing,” Louis backpedals.

Harry is quiet again, so quiet that Louis starts to worry he might have hung up. Finally, he says, “When you’re back, and once things have blown over, it’d be nice if you, me and Amir could get together to discuss his sophomore album. He’s been working on music loads while he’s been here… I think he’s even recorded a few things.”

“‘Course, yeah. I’d been meaning to set that up.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

“Hey,” Louis says gently. “You’re Toni’s dad, you know. You always will be. She’s a good kid, with a good head on her shoulders, and she’s not gonna just forget that.”

“I know,” Harry says, his voice soft.

“I know you know, I just felt like reminding you.”

The hotel door room beeps and opens, then, and Mia comes down the hall with Aya behind her. “Guess who’s _engaged?_ ” she shouts, holding her hand up and wiggling her ring finger.

“Harry, I gotta go,” Louis says, and Harry says a perfunctory goodbye before ringing off. “So it’s done?”

Aya gives him a formal nod, beaming happily as she does.

“Congrats!” Louis says, bouncing off the bed and going over to hug them both. Mia is giggling. “I’m so happy about this, honestly. Payno, wake up, Mims is engaged.”

Liam shudders himself awake and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “She’s what?”

“Engaged! To be married.”

“Ohh, right!” he exclaims, and stumbles over to them, getting in on the group hug. Mia laughs even harder. “Sorry, I’ve had far too much wine. This is why I shouldn’t come to France. Congratulations, girls, this is lovely news.”

Mia pats Louis on the shoulder. “I keep trying to call Pops and Amir, but they’re not picking up,” she says. “Have you talked to either of them today?”

“Yes, and I just spoke to Harry three seconds ago,” Louis says. “Everythin’s fine, your brother’s just made a rather dickhead move and now there’s some drama, that’s all. I told Amir not to bother you with it, and I’m sure your father’s gone on on Do Not Disturb.”

Mia sighs. “So, what, should I call Evan, then? I really want to tell Amir about this.”

“Yeah, ring Evan.”

“Aya,” Liam slurs, taking her hands in his Oprah-style. “Welcome to the family. How big a wedding are we thinking?”

“Ah, not _that_ big,” Aya says.

“The smaller the better, as far as I’m concerned,” Mia adds.

Louis pulls Mia into another hug, squeezing her tight and kissing her on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you, Mims,” he whispers.

“Thanks, Dad,” Mia says, sounding emotional.

He draws back from her and gives her a kiss on the forehead; when he pulls back, she’s beaming at him.

“Sunday and Julio are already in bed, so we were gonna go get a drink with the boys to celebrate,” Mia says. “You guys want to come?”

“Nah,” Louis says. “You don’t need an old married couple along, attracting paps, cramping your style. You go on and have fun.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding like a marionette with its strings cut. “I’m far too drunk and old to go out and drink more now, anyway. Go enjoy yourselves.”

The girls thank them and head out the door, giggling happily and discussing what bar they should go to.

When they’re gone, Louis turns to Liam. “Not too drunk to fuck me, are you?”

“God no,” Liam says, grinning. “Never.”

MALIBU, AUGUST 6, 2044

Evan claims he’s not angry with Amir about what he did, that it’s family business and he’s on Amir’s side no matter what, but despite this, he spends the evening in the living room with April while Amir spends it alone in the bedroom.

He puts his watch on Do Not Disturb and lies curled up in his pregnancy pillow, scrolling through social media. Gary has posted a photo from this morning’s shoot to Instagram, and it’s doing really well. It already has 854k likes after being up for just four hours.

It’s one of the shots of him with the butterfly that landed on his shoulder. He’s laughing happily, gazing down at it, with one hand cupped to his stomach.

Amir hesitates before opening the comment section, but what he sees is normal and sweet, verging on fawning. Instagram is good like that — plus Gary moderates his comment sections pretty well.

He tosses his phone aside and lets out a sigh, wanting to be near Evan but not wanting to get any static from him. Maybe by tomorrow, everyone will have calmed down about the whole thing.

Amir closes his eyes and lies there, feeling the baby move and kick inside him. He’s thinking he could fall asleep right now when he hears Evan say, “Hey,” from the doorway.

“Hey,” Amir says sleepily, rolling over to look at him. 

“Mia called me. Says she’s been trying to call you.”

Amir rubs his eyes. “I’m on Do Not Disturb.”

“He’s on Do Not Disturb,” Evan repeats, then listens to his earpiece for a moment. “She wants to know if you’re free to talk.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Amir holds his watch wrist up, and Evan taps on his watch before shaking his own wrist at Amir. A moment later, Mia’s saying “Hello?” in his ear.

“Hey,” Amir says, as Evan heads back down the hallway. “What’s up?”

“Hey!” He can hear bar noise in the background. “What’s going on with you and Pops and Harry?”

Amir rolls his eyes. “Christ… nothing.”

“Nothing? Dad said there’s a shitshow.”

“Not a shitshow, they’re just angry at me, is all.”

“What’d you do?”

“Toni found her birth family, and she told me, and I helped her keep it a secret, and took her to meet with her birth mom without telling them.”

Mia’s quiet for a moment. “Wow. I bet that went over really well.”

“Yep.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because Toni asked me to.”

“You didn’t expect that it would blow up in your face?”

“I knew it would,” Amir says.

“But you did it anyway?”

“Yeah, out of loyalty to our little sister!” Amir exclaims. “Jesus, Mia, isn’t it like two in the morning over there? Why are you calling me up just to harass me? I’m getting that enough from Dad and Harry, thanks.”

“I actually called to tell you that Aya proposed to me tonight,” Mia says tersely.

“Oh, so she actually did it?”

“What, you knew?”

“Yeah, Dad told me. You said yes?”

“Of course.”

“Congratulations, Mims, that’s huge. I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks. I’d really like to tell Pops, too, but he’s not answering his phone, I assume ‘cos of what happened?”

Amir feels guilty, then. “Evan?” he calls.

“Yeah,” Evan calls back from down the hall.

“Can you c’mere?”

Evan returns to the doorway and pokes his head in. “Yeah?”

“Can you call Harry and tell him to tell my dad to call Mia back? She has news.”

“Sure,” Evan says, and walks away again.

“Thanks for that,” Mia says.

“No problem.”

“How are you?” Mia says, her voice gentler. Amir can hear people in the background shouting happily in French.

“Me? I’m pissed off,” Amir says.

“At who?”

“Myself. Dad. Harry.” Toni, a little bit, for sticking him in the middle of this situation. Gina, for unwittingly letting Frank OD and rot. Frank himself, for being everything that Amir is terrified of becoming.

“Don’t stress yourself out too much,” Mia says.

“What do you even care if I do?” Amir snaps. “I’m always just a problem for all of you, I get that.”

“Amir… you know that’s not true,” she says, sounding weary. “Can I just enjoy my night? This is a really happy night for me.”

“I know it is. Don’t listen to me.”

“I want to listen to you, I just wanna celebrate my engagement.”

“That’s fine,” Amir says. “Do that. We’ll talk whenever.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

“What are you up to?” Mia says.

“On Net-a-Porter, buying cool clothes for when I’m skinny again.”

“Where’s Evan?”

“In the living room,” Amir says. “He’s avoiding me. He’s annoyed at me for causing drama, I can tell.”

“Meer…”

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously, go enjoy yourself. Congratulations, again. Tell Aya congrats, too.”

“I will,” Mia says, and the happiness from earlier creeps back into her voice. Amir is relieved to hear it. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Whenever I wake up.”

“Sounds good. Bye.”

“Bye-e.”

Amir ends the call and lies there in lonely despair for a few moments, not even interested in picking up his tablet off the bedside table so he can return to his Net-a-Porter browsing. Finally, he calls, “Evan?”

Evan comes down the hall again. “What?”

“Is April down?”

“Nah, but she’s playing in her playpen. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could come rub my back,” Amir pouts. “Even though you’re mad at me? It hurts really bad, for some reason.” His lower back has started aching terribly in the last hour or so, with pain and discomfort radiating down into his pelvis.

“I’m not mad at you,” Evan says, coming over and kneeling on the bed behind him, starting to work his powerful thumbs into the sinew between Amir’s muscles.

A pleasant chill runs up Amir’s spine. “Don’t get a hard-on,” he mumbles into the pillow. “‘Cos I can’t do shit for you.”

“I can’t help it if I get a hard-on, man.”

“Well, go jerk off in the shower, don’t keep me up poking me.”

“What if _you_ get a hard-on?” Evan challenges.

Amir grins. “I haven’t had one in days, dude. All my blood flow is diverted to baby.”

Evan is evidently so surprised by this that he stops rubbing him. “Are you serious? That’s a side effect?”

“It is for me, at least.”

Evan starts working on him with two hands, parting ligaments and muscles with his fingers. It feels wonderful. Amir smiles and cups his hands to his belly, keeping his eyes closed.

“You’re a little mad at me,” he murmurs.

Evan’s quiet for a moment before letting out an effortful sigh. “I just wish you were less impulsive,” he says. “That’s all. I wish you thought stuff through a little more. You’re the smartest person I know, but you make mistakes I would never make. Can you see how that’s frustrating, as your husband? When we’re about to have two kids? Neither of whom we talked about having, by the way —“

“Both times were accidental!”

“Yeah, but not _totally_ an accident, right? ‘Cos both times you wanted to get pregnant.”

“Whenever I went off my birth control, I told you about it,” Amir slurs into the pillow. “Don’t blame your shitty pull-out game on me.”

“Yeah, but both times you actively wanted a baby, and I was a little more unsure about it.”

“I get that, but it’s not like we didn’t talk.”

“We always talk after you’re already pregnant, though.”

“Because I know you,” Amir says. “If we talked before I got pregnant, you’d just keep putting it off forever, ‘cos you’re afraid of being a parent, ‘cos your parents sucked. You’d be saying it wasn’t the right time ‘til we were fifty. And we both want kids. So maybe both times you just needed a push.”

“Is that fair, though?” Evan says. “To push me by just going ahead and getting pregnant?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to either time, we just weren’t necessarily being careful! I assumed the magnitude of that was obvious — that we were in the danger zone for getting pregnant, so if you didn’t want us to have a kid, you should’ve either pumped the brakes or stopped jizzing in me. Since you didn’t, I assumed you were on board.”

“But I like jizzing in you,” Evan says, making him laugh. “No, look, you’re right, I never would’ve felt like I was ready, and both times I think I secretly wanted it and just couldn’t admit that. I just feel like… our relationship is pretty much in your hands, it always has been. You were the one who gave me the go-ahead for us to start talking, and you were the one who got the cabin for us when we wanted to have sex for the first time, and you proposed to me… it’s all been you, I’m just along for the ride. Which is whatever, it is what it is, but you need to _talk_ to me.”

“I should have told you about the Toni thing, I know,” Amir murmurs, then groans when Evan digs his thumb into a particularly painful spot. “Especially since we could’ve gotten kicked out of here about it.”

“I mean, yeah. And more importantly, stuff like your relapse — no matter how terrible it is, I need to know.”

“I know. I know, I know. Addict brain doesn’t think clearly, okay?” He laughs. “Sometimes my regular brain doesn’t think clearly, either. I’m gonna discuss it in therapy on Monday.”

“Good.” Evan’s quiet. “Do you really want a third kid?”

“Yes,” Amir says. “So if you don’t, you should get a vasectomy, or something.”

“I don’t wanna do _that_. I want you to have a third kid, if you want one.”

“So we’re just gonna do this dance all over again?”

“Look, I just worry,” Evan says. “I worry about you getting postpartum psychosis again, and stuff. I’m worried about that with this baby, let alone a third one.”

“You think I don’t worry about that?” Amir says tartly. “Why do you think I have therapy twice a week? Why d’you think I’m on multiple pharmaceuticals?”

“I know, babe. I know.”

They hear the patter of little feet in the hallway, then a voice peeping from the doorway, “Hi hi hi.”

Amir opens his eyes and sees April standing there in her onesie pajamas; he smiles at her.

“Hi,” Evan says. “How’d you get out of your playpen?”

“I climb out.” April clambers easily up onto the bed like the budding gymnast she is, and crawls over to them, supplanting herself between Evan and Amir. Amir rolls over and pulls her into his arms, kissing her head.

“Have the baby,” April orders him, pushing on his stomach.

“I’m working on it, angel,” he says, stroking her hair.

“Now! I want cuddles.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I know it’s hard to cuddle me right now.”

Evan laughs and lays down beside them. April flops across his chest so she’s half-lying on each of them.

“You’ll have a little brother or sister soon,” Amir murmurs, stroking her cherubic little cheek with his knuckles. “Isn’t that exciting?”

“Can I play with it?”

“Not right away, but after it gets a little bigger, yeah.”

April grows quiet and contemplative in response to this, fisting her tiny hand in Evan’s shirt.

MALIBU, AUGUST 7, 2044

Amir suspects when he wakes up the next morning that he’s in labor. He’s not entirely sure, and he’s bad at reading his body signals, so he sits up and stays still for a while as he attempts to feel himself out. What he finds is mostly discomfort and achiness, worse today than it was yesterday. But he can tell he barely slept last night, and he senses, intuitively, that he was jarred out of sleep every twenty minutes or so by contractions.

He realizes suddenly that Evan isn’t beside him, and calls his name.

“Yeah,” Evan calls back from down the hall.

“Can you come here?”

“Yeah, one sec.”

He hears Evan’s footsteps, then sees him poke his head in the bedroom doorway, looking pale, panicky and stressed.

“What’s wrong?” Amir says drowsily.

“My mom and my sister are here,” Evan says, running his hand through his hair.

“Wait, what? _Here_ here?”

“Yeah, apparently they came to the house and buzzed at the gate, and Harry let them in and called me. They’re on their way down to the guesthouse.”

“Were you gonna tell me this?” Amir exclaims.

“I wanted to let you sleep,” Evan says. “You didn’t seem like you slept well, last night.”

Amir heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t. You told Harry to send them down here, not to kick them out? Why?”

Evan scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I don’t have beef with my mom,” he says. “It would be nice for her to meet April… I dunno. And I know we’re mad at my sister, I do, but… I miss her, too.”

“Why are they here right _now_ , though?”

Evan gestures at his belly, and Amir looks at him blankly.

“Okay, I texted with my mom last night,” Evan admits. “I didn’t _invite_ her, though. She just saw the photo you posted, and she said you looked great, and she asked when the baby was due. And I said really soon. And… apparently they were already in town, and decided to stop by.”

“Great, so now she’s here because of the baby?” Amir throws his hands in the air. “What, so she can steal it and run away back to New York with it?”

“No one’s gonna steal our baby,” Evan says. “That’s called kidnapping.”

“Not when one of the parents is a crazy junkie! Then they call it child welfare!”

“Amir, babe, please — you haven’t even had the baby yet, there’s no baby to steal.”

Amir lets out a resentful scoff.

“What?” Evan says, right as the doorbell to the guesthouse rings.

“Nothing.” Now he can’t tell Evan he’s in labor. He’s going to have to just crawl away into the woods and have this baby in secret, like Frank. Otherwise, he thinks wildly, Nicole and Rachel are going to steal it right out of its hospital bassinet while he’s asleep, with gullible Evan none the wiser.

Evan eyes him. “You okay?” he says. “You look a little... feral.”

“I’m sleep-deprived, and my back hurts.”

“Sorry. You want some tea?”

“No,” Amir says, tossing the covers off of himself and clumsily making his way out of bed. He waves off Evan’s attempts to help him, then shoves his feet into his slippers. “Where’s April?”

“In her high chair, watching TV and eating animal crackers.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Amir says darkly.

“Meer!” Evan exclaims. “They are not gonna _steal_ our children!”

Amir ignores him as he makes his way out of their bedroom and past him into the hallway, mostly because it’s taking everything out of him to not wince with every movement. At the end of the hallway, he feels what he knows is definitely a contraction, and leans over with his hand against the wall, exhaling a thin breath.

“You okay?” Evan says.

“Yep, back just hurts,” Amir snaps.

Evan shoots him a suspicious look as he catches up with him and slings an arm around his shoulders, helping him over to the couch. “Sit down. Don’t move around any more than you have to.”

“I’m angry at you,” Amir calls over his shoulder at Evan, as Evan goes over to April to dump more animal crackers on her tray.

“Yeah, kind of picking up on that,” Evan says. “Do you want me to turn them away? ‘Cos I still can.”

“No,” Amir mutters. “April should meet your mom.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound okay.”

“What do I sound like?”

“Like, guttural, like you’re talking through pain or something. Are you in pain?”

“Yeah, my back hurts! I told you!”

The doorbell rings again, and Evan eyes him before heading over to the front door and pulling it open. “Hi,” he says. “Come in, I guess.”

Amir stares at the TV over the fireplace, which is tuned to the morning news, and resolutely ignores the figures that appear in his peripheral vision as Rachel and Nicole step inside.

“Well, this is very _quaint_ ,” Rachel says. Amir can tell she’s smirking just by the way she says this.

“We do have an actual house upstate,” Evan says. “Amir just wanted to be close to family right now.”

“Understandable,” Nicole says.

Amir stares at the TV until his vision blurs and the news anchors he’s staring at turn into blobs of color.

“Hi Amir,” Rachel calls.

Amir waves listlessly at her without turning his head. He hears Nicole say in a hushed voice, “Is this April?” and Evan answer, sounding very tender: “Yeah.”

Tears jump to Amir’s eyes. Even though Evan’s estrangement from his family was never his fault, he suddenly feels like he’s a wretched little wastrel who kept this poor woman from meeting her granddaughter.

The Stewarts shoot elephants, he reminds himself, wiping his cheek with his hand.

“Hi hi,” Amir hears April say, and then he hears her giggle the way she does when she’s being held by a stranger for the first time.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Nicole says softly. “I’m your grandma.”

“No,” April says in her polite way.

“Yeah, honey,” Evan says, laughing. “This is my mom. I’ve shown you pictures of her.”

“Noooo,” April says. “No thank you.”

Amir stifles a laugh.

“Let’s go in the living room,” Evan says.

Amir pulls himself together before the Stewarts descend on him. Nicole sits next to him on the couch with April in her arms, and Rachel and Evan take the wingback chairs that flank the fireplace.

“Hi Amir,” Nicole says, giving him a kind smile.

Amir nods at her, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “Hi.”

“How are you? You’re very pregnant.”

“Honestly, I feel like shit,” he says, letting out a choked laugh.

“I can imagine. You look great, though.”

“Debatable.”

“He always looks good,” Rachel says, crossing her legs at the ankle and shooting Amir a smile. “It’s very annoying of him.”

Amir wipes his eyes again. “What are you guys doing here?” he says. “Like, for real.”

In his chair, Evan goes very quiet and still.

“Well, we were in the area,” Nicole says. “And I said to Rachel, it just seems ludicrous that we haven’t met April yet. I mean, the two of us never wanted things to be like this… this terrible estrangement.”

“Rachel didn’t want that, huh?” Evan says, his voice sharp. “Because she _did_ sell us out to Dad.”

“Evan, that was five years ago,” Rachel says.

“It doesn’t matter when it was!”

“I really wasn’t trying to sell you out,” she exclaims, leaning forward in her chair. “I was trying to help you. But you’re so idealistic that you didn’t even realize.”

“How did what you did help us?” Evan says.

April whimpers, looking to Amir for comfort. Amir reaches out for her, and Nicole lets him take her and pull her close to him. He kisses her on the head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. April clings to him in response.

“I didn’t mean _you_ in the plural,” Rachel says, rolling her eyes. “I meant you, Evan, singular. Amir, back me up. You were never opposed to signing a postnup, right? It was just Evan who was against it?”

Amir hesitates, then admits, “You’re not wrong.”

“See?” Rachel says to Evan. “So I thought, like — okay, if Evan doesn’t sign a postnup, Dad’s going to cut him out of the will, and then he’s going to excommunicate him, because if he’s not in the will, not taking over the company someday, then no point in having him in the family, right? I was trying to keep you in the circle of trust —”

“By giving oppo on me and Amir to Dad, so he could bust it out during a dinner with Amir’s parents and humiliate them, and us?” Evan yells at her. “Good plan, Rachel! Yeah, that’s what a family should be like!”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says. “It backfired. It was dumb and shortsighted, I get that.”

Amir strokes April’s hair, briefly closing his eyes. He’s surprised to hear Rachel admit fault, but he can’t really follow this conversation. It’s taking everything out of him to sit here and pretend he’s not in labor.

“I can’t trust you,” Evan says, after a moment of quiet. He sounds heartbroken; Amir feels for him. “Even now, I feel like you’re both gonna go back and report to Dad.”

“I won’t,” Nicole says in a quiet voice.

“I don’t have anything to report to him,” Rachel says. “The stuff they write about you guys in the tabloids sounds worse than anything real would.”

Amir snorts and opens his eyes again. April is peering up at him, looking anxious; he smiles at her to soothe her, and waits until she smiles back.

“I need to get some fresh air,” he says, leveraging himself up from the couch and handing April back to Nicole, who looks surprised.

“You okay?” Evan says, clearly worried.

“Yeah,” Amir says, nodding. He has to get out of this room, this house — some instinctive, protective urge is driving him on.

*

Harry is with Toni and Zayn in the painting room, watching from the corner as they cathartically splatter a massive canvas with paint, when his watch pings him to alert him that Amir is in the house.

He furrows his brow at his watch, then looks up at Zayn. “Amir just walked in,” he says.

Zayn shrugs. “Must be avoiding Evan’s family. You want to go talk to him?”

Toni is pretending to be absorbed in what she’s doing, but Harry can tell she’s listening closely.

“Yeah, might as well,” Harry says, and leaves them to their paint splattering.

He walks down the quasi-hallway of their sprawling, open-plan house, and starts exploring, eventually finding Amir in the kitchen where they had their big serious talk the other night. He’s sitting in the booth of the breakfast nook, leaning on the table.

“Hey,” Harry says, going over to him. “What brings you over here?”

Amir looks up at him. His eyes are half-lidded, and his face is pale and drawn.

“You okay?” Harry says, immediately forgetting yesterday’s anger in favor of new worry.

Amir nods. “Just I’ve been invaded by my in-laws,” he says hoarsely, “and I’m in labor.”

Harry starts. “You’re _what_?”

“Yeah. I thought I probably was, and then I walked in here and my water broke, so.”

Amir gestures at the floor under Harry’s feet, and he looks down, realizing he’s standing in a puddle. Luckily, he’s wearing shoes.

“Well, that’s fun,” he says, grimacing. “Why are we sitting in the kitchen instead of going to hospital?”

Amir rubs his forehead with his thumb. “‘Cos I haven’t told my husband, ‘cos I didn’t want to say anything in front of his mom and his fucking sister, and I also didn’t want to say anything to you guys, ‘cos you hate me right now.”

“We don’t at all hate you,” Harry says. “We were scared and upset. You’re a parent, you understand.”

“Yeah, I’m a parent,” Amir mutters. “Shitty parent, according to my dad. Maybe you and the Stewarts can split custody of my kids. You can have this one, and they can get April.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Why not, Harry? Don’t you like to take drug addicts’ kids?”

“Stop it,” Harry roars at him, reeling as if slapped. “Look, I get you’re in pain, emotional and physical, but you’re not going to sit here in my house and insult me like this!”

“Sorry,” Amir says, looking genuinely abashed. “I don’t even know why I said that, it just came out.”

“Fine. Let’s agree to forget it. How far apart are your contractions?”

Amir shrugs. “Seven minutes, at least. Maybe more.”

“Well, you’re high-risk, anyway, so we’re going to hospital. Now.”

“I don’t want to go,” Amir mutters. “I don’t want to have this baby. If I don’t have it, no one can take it away from me.”

“No one wants to take your baby, I promise,” Harry says. “But you’re gonna have it no matter whether you want to or not. Can you walk? Do you need help?”

“I can walk.” He pauses. “Kind of.”

Harry helps him anyway, keeping one arm around him until they make it to the Range Rover parked out front, then pretty much lifting him into the backseat.

“Damn,” Amir says, out of breath from the walk. “How much do you bench?”

“Two-fifty,” Harry says. “I’m gonna go let your dad know, and get Evan, okay?”

“Okay,” Amir says, nodding, his eyes closing. “I’m sorry, again... For everything.”

“We overreacted a bit last night,” Harry says. “We’re sorry, too. I know how much you love Toni, I know you didn’t mean to put her in danger.”

A tear leaks down Amir’s cheek. “I really didn’t,” he chokes out.

Harry reaches up to stroke Amir’s dark hair. “Just sit tight. Can you feel the baby moving, still? Everything seem okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Amir says, nodding. His thick eyelashes flutter open a crack. “Still moving around, still kicking the shit out of me.”

Harry laughs. “Okay, good.”

*

Amir actually dozes off for a while, then. He’s awoken by Evan yanking the car door open and shouting in his face, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Amir says, opening his eyes and shooting him a cranky look. “Can you dial down the volume?”

“Amir!”

“Because your _family_ was in our house, Evan!”

“Please — I could tell something was wrong with you, I could have gotten rid of them!”

“I didn’t want them getting suspicious! What did you tell them when you left, just now?”

“I told them I have to take you to the doctor, I didn’t give specifics, I just told them I’d meet up with them again at some point — they’re in town all week. They left just now.” Evan shuts the door, then walks around the front of the car; Amir can hear his sneakers crunching on the gravel. He opens the other door, then scoots in next to Amir, and reaches over to do Amir’s seatbelt. “What did you think was going to happen if you said you were in labor in front of them?”

“I dunno,” Amir mutters. “I just felt like I had to run away. Animal instinct. A deer wouldn’t tell a crocodile it was about to give birth.”

Evan laughs and kisses him on the head. “God, you’re nuts.”

“Don’t let them come to the hospital, please,” Amir says, looking at Evan through his hazy vision. “I don’t want them there, not while I’m in labor.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Him and Harry are getting April ready, grabbing your hospital bag and rounding up the girls.”

Amir nods. “Can you call Louis?” he says, his voice breaking. He starts to cry again. “I know he won’t make it back in time, probably, but…”

Evan nods and starts tapping his watch’s face. “I’ll call him.” He reaches out to wipe Amir’s tears, then kisses him on the forehead. “Hey,” he whispers. “We’re gonna have another baby.”

Amir smiles tremulously. “Yeah.”

THE 16TH ARRONDISSEMENT OF PARIS, AUGUST 7, 2044

Mia and Aya have just finished getting dressed and ready for dinner when Patrick bursts into their hotel room.

“Paddy!” Mia scolds him, jumping to her feet from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her socks on. “We could’ve been naked!”

“Why would you be _naked_?” Patrick says, taking a moment to catch his breath before shooting a quick curious glance at Aya that Mia doesn’t miss noticing. He withers under Mia’s respondent glare, then taps his watch and says, “Amir’s in labor.”

“Oh, shit!” Mia exclaims. “No shit?”

“Yeah, and he’s like, a big emotional mess or something, as usual, and he begged Dad to come, so Dad is flying out, and he’s packing right now, and he told me to come ask if you guys want to come, too.”

Mia’s taken aback by this rapid change of plans, but she rolls with it. She turns to Aya, who looks just as surprised, and says, “Wanna fly out to L.A. with me?”

“Sure,” Aya says, smiling. “Let’s go meet a baby.”

“Who else is coming?” Mia says, turning back to Patrick.

“Me and Max are,” Patrick says. “Dads is staying here. Sunday’s also staying here... obviously.”

“Alright,” Mia says. She steps into her nearest pair of slip-on shoes, then grabs her backpack, which already contains all of her essentials — being a professional athlete made her into a master packer. “Lead on, Macduff.”

“Lay on,” Aya says quietly.

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘lay on’... ‘lead on’ is a misquotation.”

“Oh, my God,” Mia says, looking at Patrick with horror. “I’m marrying the female version of Amir.”

Patrick makes an L with his fingers at her, and Aya exclaims from behind them, “Is it so bad to be an educated person?” as she tosses her suitcase onto the bed and begins throwing clothes into it.

“Yes,” Patrick says. “Being educated is a terrible quality. No offense.”

Mia holds back a laugh while Aya clucks her tongue.

*

On the plane, Louis won’t stop fidgeting and biting his nails. Mia, who ended up in the seat beside him, finally slaps him in the arm while they’re over the Atlantic Ocean, flying from night into day.

“Stop it,” she says. “Relax.”

Louis shakes his head and looks out the window. “I just worry about him,” he says.

“I know, but he’s at Cedars Sinai, the safest place on Earth,” Mia says.

“Not _physically_ ,” Louis says under his breath. “Well, yeah, physically, ‘cos he’s having a baby, but that’s usually uneventful.”

“You have a weird definition of uneventful.”

“He just sounded proper upset on the phone,” Louis says, ignoring this. “And it makes me nervous to have Stewarts lurking around. And Zayn’s just texted me that him and Harry got papped on their way in, so the place is swarming with paps now.”

“It’ll be okay.”

Louis lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat.

“How is he otherwise, did Dad say?”

“He’s fine,” Louis says. “Baby’s fine. Everything progressing normally, Zayn said, all vitals good. Just stuck in the waiting bit, now.”

Mia nudges him. “Are you excited?”

Louis smiles. “Yeah, absolutely.”

MALIBU, AUGUST 7, 2044

Amir spends four hours denying painkillers while Evan paces at the foot of his bed in the luxury suite of Cedar Sinai’s labor and delivery ward, his face tensing every time Amir groans in pain. Finally, he stops on his heel and says, “Meer, enough. Just let them give you something.”

“I can’t take opioids,” Amir spits back at him. He’s hunched over in pain, bracing himself against the hospital bed’s guardrail. “They already gave me Tylenol, and it’s too early for an epidural. So I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do.”

“Take some opioids!”

“I’m an addict! Last time I relapsed it was ‘cos of opioids!”

“But this is a hospital, they can control your intake! Please,” Evan begs him, “I can’t stand seeing you in pain. I know how much you hate being in pain. I honestly feel like you’re just putting yourself through this to punish yourself.”

“I’m putting myself through this because if I relapse, my life is over!”

“That’s not true, Amir. I’d take care of you. I’d help you through it.”

Amir grits his teeth. The world feels like a hellscape of nausea and searing pain; his vision is swimming. “No.”

“Do you want me to call your therapist and your social worker and ask if you’re allowed to have some fucking pain medicine?” Evan exclaims. “‘Cos I will!”

“Don’t call anyone. Just leave me alone. Go sit in the waiting room if I’m torturing you so much.”

Evan goes to the door, but he doesn’t leave; he hits the button that calls the nurse.

“Traitor,” Amir spits at him.

“I forgot how mean you are when you’re in labor,” Evan mutters.

“Fuck off.”

Evan shakes his head and stays by the door until it opens, revealing Kerri, one of the OB nurses who’s been attending to Amir. “What’s wrong?” she says.

“He’s in a ton of pain, and I really think he needs some stronger medication so he can relax,” Evan says. “I don’t think him being in this much distress is good for him or the baby.”

“What is this, the thirteenth century?” Amir demands. “My husband gets to force drugs on me when I’m noncompliant?”

“Uh, no one said anything about _that_ , sir,” Kerri says, looking alarmed. She loops her stethoscope around her neck and comes over to examine him. “Lie back, shh, take it easy…”

Amir lies back against the pillows, and she starts to gently rub his shoulder. This feels so good that tears leak down his cheeks.

“You said you only wanted Tylenol ‘cos you’re in recovery, right?” Kerri says gently. “Listen, if you need something a little stronger, we can push it slow so it doesn’t hit your system all at once. No high, just pain relief, I promise.”

Amir is quiet, his head lolling.

“Look, if we don’t get your pain under control now, it’s going to be a problem,” Kerri says. “We’re here to help. We understand addiction. We just want you to be comfortable so you can focus on having your baby.”

“Last time I relapsed, it started when I stole my stepdad’s Percocet,” Amir says, his voice hoarse.

“Percocet is oxycodone, we wouldn’t give you that. That’s too strong. We’d start you on hydrocodone, and that combined with the Tylenol should start to give you some relief. And we wouldn’t give you a prescription for it, either, we’d just push it into your IV. Does that sound okay?”

Amir is so tired of fighting that he nods and closes his eyes, which are hot and buzzing with exhaustion. “Okay.”

He hears Evan breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay, good,” Kerri says, and pats him on the arm. Amir hears her get up and start moving around, opening drawers. “How’d you get on opioids to begin with, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I started taking them for pain,” Amir murmurs. “Along with other stuff… I was doing a lot of other drugs at the time… but I get bad pain in my hands. Nerve pain. I’m a pianist.”

“How old are you?” she says.

“Twenty-seven.”

Kerri clucks at him. “You poor thing,” she says again, her tone warm and maternal.

Amir sniffles. He feels another stab of yearning for Louis to show up and dote on him.

“Alright…” He opens his eyes and sees her pushing a syringe into his IV where it goes into his elbow. “We’ll start slow... I’ll come back every hour and push another milligram. But you should start feeling better pretty soon.”

“Thank you,” Amir murmurs.

Kerri strokes his hair, smiling at him. “You’re welcome. Get some rest if you can, okay?”

Amir nods and watches her walk away, feeling weary down to his bones. Evan comes over to his bedside and takes a seat in the armchair beside it, his eyes searching his face.

“Sorry,” Amir says. “I was being a dick.”

“It’s okay,” Evan says, laughing. “You’re just so stubborn sometimes.” He reaches out and takes Amir’s hand. “I love you. I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

More tears leak down Amir’s cheeks. “How do I look?” he says, sniffing.

“Great,” Evan says, much too quickly for him to be telling the truth.

“Liar.”

Evan smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

*

The hospital has provided them with a private waiting room, partly because they’re forking out a small fortune for Amir’s stay, and partly because the rest of the hospital is now serving as a forward operating base for a bunch of frantic paparazzi, some of whom are wandering the halls pretending they’re family members of patients in the hopes that they’ll be able to stumble upon Amir’s room.

Amir has requested that Evan be the only person in the room with him up through the baby being born, which is fine with Zayn, because he’s still upset with his son and was never good at the delivery room stuff anyway. Evan comes back to give them frequent updates, though. About five hours in, Zayn hears the door open again, and looks up to see Evan being let in by one of Harry’s security guys.

“Did he have the baby?” Marlena says, looking up from April, who’s drawing in a coloring book on the couch beside her.

Evan shakes his head and goes over to the minifridge to get a water. “Nah, it’s not gonna be for hours.”

“We keep telling you that, Lena,” Harry says, glancing over at her.

“Well, I don’t get why it takes so long,” Marlena says.

Zayn eyes Evan as he walks over to their set-up, which Harry is calling Mission HQ. Really it’s just a couch and two armchairs gathered around a coffee table, which is littered with empty snack packets and on which Harry is resting his laptop so he can constantly monitor coverage of this story, plus his Slack chat with Amir’s PR team.

“Is he still refusing pain meds?” Zayn asks Evan, who takes a seat on the edge of the couch next to Toni.

“No, actually,” Evan says, drinking some of his water. He swallows before adding, “He took some, finally, and he went to sleep right after. He’s been asleep for like an hour now.”

“Good,” Harry murmurs, not looking up, his eyes still scanning the screen of his laptop. “He needs it.”

“He probably didn’t sleep well last night after you guys were such dicks to him,” Toni says under her breath.

Zayn snaps his head to the left to look at her, his heart quickening. “Hey,” he says. “That’s uncalled for. Talk to your parents with respect.”

“Sorry,” Toni says.

“We weren’t dicks to him,” Harry says, finally looking up. “We were adults having a heated argument.”

“ _Really_ heated,” Marlena says, crossing her legs and shooting Harry a look. “I heard you yelling from upstairs.”

“We were upset,” Zayn says, in his firmest voice, so everyone understands that this conversation is over.

He doesn’t want Harry to feel more guilty about the situation than he already does. Earlier, when they had a moment alone in the hallway, Harry confessed to him that he thinks it’s their fault that Amir went into labor.

“We stressed him into it,” Harry said, his green eyes large. “We so clearly did.”

“It’s not that simple,” Zayn said back to him in an undertone. “His doctor said he was due to go any minute now, and it’s fine that he did. He’s only a few weeks early, and he’s a wee guy, he was sufferin’ physically. I could tell. Every time he moved, he winced.”

“Yeah, but I feel awful knowing that we stressed him out _that_ much.”

“What were we meant to do, Harry? Let it slide? What sort of message would that send to Toni? She needs to know we’re here to protect her no matter what.”

Harry could only respond with a helpless shrug.

Evan drinks most of the rest of his water before setting the bottle on the table and going over to kiss April on the head. She looks up at him, beaming, then returns to her coloring book. “Alright, I’m gonna go back in. I’ll let you guys know if anything changes.”

“Thanks,” Harry and Zayn call after him as he heads back into the hall.

“Can we not leave this hospital until the baby is born?” Marlena says. “‘Cos I kind of had plans today.”

“No, you can’t,” Zayn says. “There’s paps crawling everywhere, I’m not letting any of you kids out of my sight ‘til this dies down.”

Marlena heaves a sigh and starts scrolling her watch.

*

It’s new for Evan to actually be able to share the moment of their baby being born with Amir. When April was born, a nurse with blood on her gown stomped out of the OR into the hallway to tell Evan, “Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl.”

“Is my husband okay?” Evan had demanded.

“He will be once we’ve stitched him up,” she said. “Your daughter is on her way to the NICU, you can go meet her there.”

This time, Evan gets to be in a chair by Amir’s bedside the whole time, bent over him with his face buried in Amir’s bicep, holding his hand. Amir, post-epidural, is now almost in no pain whatsoever — in fact, he keeps almost nodding off, with Evan having to kiss him awake.

“Sorry,” Amir murmurs at one point. “It’s just it’s been ten hours of this...”

“More than twelve, actually,” Evan says. “It’s almost ten o’clock at night.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Amir says.

“I shit you not.”

“Insanity.”

Finally, their baby is yanked free from Amir’s problematically narrow pelvis and hoisted into the air by the team of people who were working on this. Evan lifts his head, craning his neck for a look, but they hurry the baby over to the clean-up station lightning-quick.

“Congratulations,” a nurse calls. “It’s a boy.”

Amir starts laughing in happy disbelief, and Evan turns to kiss him. Tears are running down his cheeks; Evan kisses those, too.

“It’s a boy,” Amir sings.

Dr. Brian comes back over, then, and says as a matter of warning, “You’re not going to be able to feel it, but I’m about to stick most of my arm inside you. Sorry in advance.”

“In front of my husband?” Amir jokes, wiping his tears away.

“I’ll avert my eyes,” Evan says. He buries his face in the crook of Amir’s neck, and Amir reaches up and strokes his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, I just want my baby,” Amir murmurs.

Evan can hear said baby crying in the corner, making pitiful little newborn squalls.

“Alright,” Brian says, clearing his throat. “I’m done. Amir, you’re going to need to stay off your feet as much as you can for about a week or so. Your pelvis is going to be very sore, and you’re in danger of a hip dislocation.”

“I’m in danger of _what_?” Amir says, sitting up a little, jostling Evan. “Jesus Christ... can you just give me my baby and leave me alone?”

Brian laughs. Evan looks up and sees Kerri bringing their baby over, smiling. “Gown open,” she says, and Amir undoes the laces on the neck of his hospital gown, exposing his bare chest.

She lays the tiny baby against him, and pulls the gown closed over his back. The baby’s squalling quiets, then he makes a soft cooing noise.

In response, Amir lets out an emotional “Oh,” before wrapping his arms around him. Tears are running down his cheeks, again; Evan’s eyes are hot, too. He stares at their baby’s face, awed. He’s a typical squashed-looking newborn with sparse dark hair, but he’s beautiful to Evan.

“He’s six pounds, ten ounces,” Kerri says. “Apgar score is nine.”

Amir kisses the baby on his little bonnetted head. “That’s not bad at all,” he murmurs.

“No,” Evan agrees.

Amir seems to get lost in thought for a moment. He looks exhausted; his elfin face is puffy, tears are shining on the ends of his eyelashes, and his eyes are rimmed with redness and dark circles. Finally, he says, “Your mom can come meet the baby, if she wants, but I don’t want Rachel here. Not in the hospital, anyway.”

Evan gets it. Amir feels vulnerable right now, emotionally and physically, and Rachel is an existential threat to their fragile little family. “Okay,” he says. “I’m fine with that. Do you want me to go tell your family he’s here?”

Amir nods. “Please. Tell them they can come back and visit, when they want to.”

“I will.” Evan is really reluctant to leave Amir and the baby, but he kisses them both on the head before heading out of the delivery room, his paper gown rustling loudly in the quiet hallway.

He nods to the security guard posted up outside of their private waiting room, then elbows the door open so he doesn’t have to touch it with his gloved hands. When he steps inside, everyone looks up at him expectantly.

“Baby’s here,” Evan says, smiling. “It’s a boy.”

April is asleep in Harry’s arms, so the four of them let out very quiet, mannerly cheers, which Zayn punctuates with an emphatic, “ _Finally_ , a boy.”

“ _Finally_?” Marlena repeats. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yeah, what the hell, Dad?” Toni says, laughing.

“I just mean it’s nice to have another boy around! I’ve hardly got any boys around.” Zayn spreads his arms, looking defensive. “What?”

Harry shakes his head at him.

“Is Amir okay?” Zayn says, glancing back toward Evan.

Evan nods. “He’s doing really good, they said. He just needs rest, and to stay off his feet.”

“I figured,” Harry says knowingly. “He’s slim-hipped, Amir.” He rubs April’s back and pets her hair. “I’d ask if you want to have her go meet her brother,” he whispers, “but she’s fast asleep, I don’t want to wake her…”

“It can be tomorrow,” Evan says. “That’s okay. But Amir says you guys can come in and meet him, if you want. One at a time, please, don’t overwhelm him.”

“Lou and Yasmeen’ve landed and are on their way over here,” Zayn says, rubbing his knuckle against his nose. “If you wanna let Amir know.”

Evan nods again. Suddenly, he feels quite tired himself, and he realizes that he has a tension headache and a sore left hand from Amir squeezing it. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Harry says, shooting him a smile.

Evan smiles back. “Thanks.”

When he heads back into Amir’s room, the overhead lights have been dimmed and all of the doctors and nurses have departed, except for Kerri, who’s tending to Amir’s IV. Amir is still lying happily in bed, gazing with deep love in his eyes at the baby on his chest. Evan pauses in the doorway and takes his phone from his pocket so he can take a quick photo of this, then returns to the armchair he’s been sitting in all day.

*

Zayn is the last one to go meet his grandson. Marlena and Toni go first, then come back delighted and cooing about how cute he is. Zayn takes April from Harry and tells him to go next, and Harry gives him a tight-lipped nod. He’s gone for at least twenty minutes, and when he steps back into the waiting room, he says with a smile, “It is a very cute baby.”

When Zayn comes in, the room has been made a little more cozy; someone plugged in an essential oil diffuser, and Amir has one of his own blankets in his hospital bed. The curtains on the windows are still pulled shut tight in order to be pap-proof, but nighttime Los Angeles light pollution creeps around the edges.

“Hi,” Zayn says to Amir, who’s snuggled up in bed with the baby cradled to his bare chest.

Amir smiles at him. “Hi. Come meet your grandson.”

Evan vacates the armchair beside Amir’s bed so Zayn can come sit in it. Amir sits up some, wincing as he does, and bends forward to situate the baby in his arms before handing him to Zayn.

“Careful,” Amir murmurs. “He’s little.”

“I’ve raised four babies, kiddo,” Zayn says, taking his swaddled, be-hatted grandson. Pride and affection swell in his chest as he looks at this little creature, who’s unusually well-formed for a newborn, in the same way that Amir and April were.

The baby squints at him and wriggles in his arms, making little noises.

“Shh, you’re alright,” Zayn murmurs, stroking his head. He looks at Amir, then at Evan. “What do you think for a name?”

Evan shrugs. “We haven’t really decided yet.”

“I have a few ideas,” Amir says. “I keep coming back to a kind of unusual one…”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

“Iskandar,” Amir says. “It’s what they called Alexander the Great in the East.”

“Iskandar,” Zayn repeats, looking at the baby, whose eyes have closed again. “Big name for a wee baby. I like it, though.”

“Yeah, I think he’d need a nickname,” Amir says, picking lint pills off of the blanket on his lap. “We’ve been kicking around ideas… I kind of like Xander, or Skandar.”

All of the blood drains from Zayn’s face, and he hands the baby back to Amir. “Erm,” he says. “Amir, could I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Amir shoots him a curious glance, but nods.

“Okay,” Evan says, and gets up. “I’ll go stretch my legs, I guess.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Zayn says dismissively. He doesn’t mean to say it like that, it’s just he’s starting to panic about what he’s going to have to tell Amir as soon as Evan leaves.

Evan, looking baffled, speeds out of the room.

“Dad,” Amir scolds. “Don't be mean to Evan.”

Zayn gets up and runs his hand through his hair, his heart quickening. “You can’t nickname your baby Xander,” he says, turning back to his son.

Amir’s brow knits. “Why not?”

“Because _Xander_ is the name of the guy I cheated on your dad with, Amir!” he explodes. “For fuck’s sake, can you ever just do as I ask?”

Amir looks absolutely crestfallen, and hugs his baby to himself in a way that makes Zayn feel like a monster. “Get out,” he says.

“What?” Zayn exclaims.

“You heard me! Get out! I don’t want to be around you right now!”

“What d’you mean? Why not?”

“‘Why not?’” Amir splutters. The baby squalls, and he starts rocking him, shushing him as he does. “You just _yelled_ at me because I accidentally considered nicknaming my baby after the guy you cheated on my father with!”

“I didn’t mean to yell, Amir, I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to have to bring that up when you’ve just had a baby, and you always _press_ me on things.”

“Don’t cheat on my dad and you won’t have to bring it up,” he spits.

Zayn heaves a sigh. At that moment, the delivery suite door bursts open, and to Zayn’s unhappiness, Patrick and Max stroll in.

“The uncles have arrived,” Patrick says. He’s wearing two party hats, plus a ridiculous pair of old school hater-blocker sunglasses. Max is in aviators and a singular party hat. They both look deeply rumpled, like they’re hungover on top of having just flown for twelve straight hours.

Max blows a noisemaker.

“Guys, seriously,” Amir says. “If you make this baby start crying, I swear to God.”

Max winces in regret and blows the noisemaker again, much more quietly this time.

“Where’s my dad?” Amir says, looking distressed.

“ _Our_ dad is trying to figure out how to get into the hospital without being papped,” Patrick says. “Mia and Aya are with him. Me and Max made a run for it while the paps were distracted chasing Dad’s car around. Real covert ops shit.”

“Yeah, I think we have a future at the CIA,” Max says. “Can we meet this baby?”

Amir nods. “C’mere.”

Patrick bounds past Zayn, saying, “Hi Zayn. Bye Zayn,” as he does. Max follows behind him, shooting Zayn an apologetic smile.

Zayn starts heading out. He finds the twins hard to bear on a good day, and they’re even less bearable right now, when his temper is stretched to the breaking point. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” he calls over his shoulder to Amir, who nods and clears his throat.

On his way out, Zayn hears Patrick say, “He’s a dead ringer for me, I think,” and Amir laughs.

Evan is waiting in the hallway. He looks confused when he sees Zayn, and says, “Can I go back in, or what?”

“Yeah,” Zayn mutters. “Do whatever you want.”

Evan is obviously nonplussed by this, but Zayn doesn’t care. He heads back into the waiting room and collapses onto the couch beside Harry, nuzzling into his shoulder before reaching out to pet April’s golden hair. She’s still sound asleep in Harry’s arms, her sweet face peaceful.

“What’s wrong?” Harry says to him in an undertone that the girls, who are over by the sink filling up the electric kettle, probably can’t hear.

“Family’s exhausting,” Zayn says.

“Aw, but babies are nice.”

“Babies grow up and become exhausting.”

“But then they make more babies. Circle of life.”

Zayn snorts, and Harry kisses him on the head.

*

The twins only visit for a few minutes, fussing over Unnamed Baby Boy and telling him that they’re going to teach him how to shotgun a beer someday, then announce that they’re starving and depart for the hospital cafeteria.

Amir and Evan look at each other and laugh, and then Evan puts down the railing on the left side of Amir’s bed so he can climb into it and snuggle up beside him. Amir happily leans into his chest, feeling comforted, and stares at the perfect little baby in his arms.

“I’m not getting you an anniversary present, by the way,” he murmurs. “This was it. Baby is it.”

“That’s fine,” Evan says, kissing Amir on the head and reaching down to stroke their son on the cheek.

“Is April still asleep?”

“Last I checked.”

The door to Amir’s room opens once again, this time revealing Mia and Louis.

“Hey,” Amir exclaims, his heart lifting in joy and relief. He hands the baby off to Evan. “You made it!”

“We made it,” Mia sings, as Louis hurries over to Amir and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Amir crumples against his shoulder, weeping into it, suddenly unable to keep his composure any longer. He shakes with sobs, clutching at Louis.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Louis says, stroking his hair. “You’ve had a rough few days, haven’t you?”

Amir is incoherent; all he can do is weep. It feels good, like he’s being purged of poison. Around him, his people move to comfort him. Louis keeps holding him, and Evan reaches out to hold his hand, while Mia says, “It’s okay, Meer.”

When he’s finally trailed off into the hiccupy, sniffly stage of crying, Louis lets him go and hands him a box of tissues. Amir wipes his eyes and sees that Mia is standing by the edge of his bed, rocking her nephew in her arms and smiling at him.

“He’s perfect,” she says. “Precious little poot, just like April was.”

Amir laughs and hiccups some more, and Evan kisses him on the head. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute.”

Mia leans down and surreptitiously sniffs the baby’s head.

“I see you, head-sniffer,” Amir says, grinning through his tears.

“Leave me alone!”

The hospital bed is just big enough for Evan and Louis to squeeze into it on either side of Amir, so squeeze in is exactly what Louis does, after he kicks his shoes off. “Gimme my grandbaby,” he says, extending his arms to Mia.

She hands him the baby, who whimpers softly but doesn’t otherwise object to being passed around like a joint.

“He’s a good baby,” Amir says. He lays his head back against his pillows, dizzy from crying and exhausted.

“Are you?” Louis coos to the baby, who stares in the general vicinity of his face. “Are you a good baby? Have you nursed him yet?”

Amir nods. “Not a lot came out,” he says, sniffling. “So the nurse gave him formula.”

“Okay. Well, that’s alright.” Louis clears his throat. “Where’s the rest of the tribe?”

“They’re in the waiting room,” Evan says. “April’s asleep, so we didn’t want to wake her. Everyone else is just chilling… I think they might leave soon, so Amir can get some sleep.”

Amir nods in a drowsy way. Sleep does sound nice.

“Does baby have a name?” Louis says.

“Not yet,” Amir murmurs. “I like Iskandar.”

Even Zayn’s confession wasn’t enough to taint it for him. It’s a princely name, like ‘Amir’ is; he wants to pass that on to his son.

Mia does a low whistle.

“What’s an Iskandar?” Louis says, laughing.

“It’s just the Eastern version of Alexander.”

“Oh, alright. What does Evan think of it?”

“I like it,” Evan says mildly. “But I leave the naming up to Amir.”

“He’d need a nickname,” Louis says, stroking the baby’s cheek with his finger.

Amir elbows Evan so he doesn’t say anything about ‘Xander’. Evan, clearly perplexed, says, “Ow?”

“Maybe not,” Amir says. “Maybe he can just go by his whole name.”

“It’s a hell of a name,” Louis says. “But maybe he’ll grow to suit it, then.”

“Maybe he could go by his middle name,” Amir says.

“And what would that be?” Mia says, winking at Amir. They’ve already discussed this amongst themselves.

“I was thinking Louis,” Amir says, glancing at his dad.

Louis laughs, clearly delighted. “Oh, come off it!”

“Would you like that?”

“You know I would, but don’t do it just to please me.”

“No, I really do like it as a name.”

“I like it, too,” Evan puts in.

“Yeah, it was actually Evan’s idea originally,” Amir says.

“Well, if you all insist,” Louis murmurs, smiling at the baby in his arms.

“He’ll have your full name in the middle of his name,” Amir says. “Iskandar Louis Tomlinson-Malik.”

Louis’ eyes twinkle. “I suppose he will.”

Amir motions for Mia to come close, and takes her left hand in his, examining her engagement ring. “This is really pretty, Mims,” he says. “It’s classy-looking.”

“Thanks,” Mia says, beaming. “I still can’t believe she did that.”

“Me neither, who would want to marry you?”

Mia gives him the finger.

“Wow,” Amir says. “I just had a baby like an hour ago, you asshole.”

“Yeah, life’s rough like that.”

“Harry’s tomatoes,” Amir says, and she laughs. “Where is Aya, anyway?”

“She headed for the waiting room,” Mia says. “She didn’t want to crowd you. I’m assuming the boys went to go find food?”

“Of course,” Evan says.

“I’m sorry I made you guys come home from the Olympics,” Amir says, glancing between Mia and Louis. “I didn’t mean to.”

Louis starts to respond, but the baby starts fussing, so he hands him back to Amir. Once Amir has soothed him, he says, “Honestly, don’t worry about it. We got to see all the coolest bits in person, and from here on out, it’s mostly them fucking around until the closing ceremonies.”

“Was Liam upset you left?”

“Of course not! I mean, I reckon he’s a bit lonely now,” Louis says. “He’s texted me about twenty times since I landed. And he wants to meet the baby. But we’ll see him soon enough.” He inhales. “Mims and Evan, why don’t you go, er, let Zayn and Harry know I’ve arrived, let them know they can head home if they like?”

Mia immediately takes the hint that Louis wants to be alone with Amir, and heads for the door like a soldier who’s received orders. Evan gets it a second later, rolling off the edge of the bed like a bleary-eyed acrobat. “Sure thing,” he says.

Louis smiles at them as they go. When the door is shut behind them, he says to Amir, “How are you, really?”

“I feel weird,” Amir admits, glancing down at the sleeping baby in his arms. “They kind of, like, pulled me apart like a crab leg to deliver him.”

Louis winces and shudders. “Oh, my poor lad. They did the same thing to me when I had you.”

Amir nods. “I remember. I just didn’t want another C-section, ‘cos the last one hurt a lot to recover from, and I don’t want to take opioids… I got opioids in my IV earlier, ‘cos my contractions were so bad, and I’m worried about it, honestly.”

“How did the opioids make you feel?” Louis says, sounding concerned.

Amir strokes his baby’s little cheek. The baby snuffles softly, his eyes stirring under his eyelids. “The nurse said I wouldn’t feel high, I’d just feel relief, and she was right. I don’t feel like I need to go out and score more, or anything. I was in so much pain and so focused on the baby that I barely remember feeling them hit. But I just always feel like I’m teetering on the edge of the abyss.”

“You’ll be alright, love. You’ve got such a good support system, and you’ve come so far, and you’ve got wee, er, Iskandar here to think about…” Louis taps the baby on the forehead, and Amir laughs a hiccupy laugh.

“What if I get psychosis again?” Amir says, giving voice to the yawning terror in his chest. His eyes start to burn and swim with tears.

Louis strokes his hair. “You’re in such a better place this time,” he says. “You’re on medication, you’ve got your therapists, you’ve got all of us looking out for you. You know to let us know if you start feeling off. And we won’t let you be sleep-deprived, or overly stressed, alright? We won’t let you get to your breaking point.”

Amir sniffles. Hot tears trickle down his face. “Okay.”

Louis kisses him on the head. “You’ll be alright. I really believe that.”

“I’m really glad you’re home,” Amir admits.

“I know. I could tell you needed me here.” Louis pats him on the arm. “You ought to get some rest, if you can.”

“Okay,” Amir murmurs. He gazes down at the sleeping baby in his arms. “Are you Iskandar? Is that who you are?”

“If you insist,” Louis says in an imitation of a baby voice, and Amir laughs. “Maybe Iska, for a nickname?”

“Iska’s nice,” Amir agrees.

*

When Mia returns to the waiting room, she sees Aya and Zayn sitting next to each other on one of the couches, chatting animatedly while April snoozes in Zayn’s arms. Evan heads over to Harry, who’s standing in the kitchenette with the girls, and Mia goes over to her dad and fiancée.

“Hi love,” Zayn says. “Let me see this ring.”

Mia holds her hand out to him, and he takes it, admiring it.

“Lovely,” he declares.

“I agree,” Mia says. “But now I need to get _her_ one, and it has to measure up.”

Aya laughs.

“The bigger the better is my usual rule,” Zayn says.

Aya looks hopeful and bashful at the same time. “Not _too_ big,” she says.

“You didn’t buy Dad a ring,” Mia says to Zayn.

“Like Louis would walk around with a stonking diamond on his finger,” Zayn says. “No, I got me an’ him matching wedding bands. Welsh gold. They were lovely. I think he still has them somewhere.”

“Really?”

Zayn nods. “Unless he binned them, I dunno.”

Mia laughs. “Dad… please.”

“How are Amir and the baby?” Aya asks Mia.

“Good,” Mia says. “The baby’s great, not fussy at all. We only left ‘cos Dad wanted to talk to Amir in private.”

Zayn nods slowly, gazing across the room at Harry, who’s pouring Evan a cup of tea, now. Marlena and Toni are talking amongst themselves in the corner, in that conspiratorial way that teenage girls have. “And Amir?”

“He’s fine,” Mia says. “Haven’t you just seen him? You’ve been here all day.”

“We might have gotten into a wee argument a few minutes ago,” Zayn says, in an undertone.

“Dad,” Mia says, exasperated. “What’s wrong with you two? Why can’t you learn when’s the appropriate time to put your drama aside?”

Zayn shrugs and strokes April’s hair. “Father and son things,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

MALIBU, AUGUST 8, 2044

Amir is woken throughout the night by random nurses who want to check his vitals and make him try again to nurse the baby, but he sleeps a sound, dreamless sleep in between these interruptions. He wakes up for good around 10 a.m., after Evan puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey pretty boy,” Evan says softly, when Amir opens his eyes. “How are you?”

Amir squints at him, bleary-eyed. “I’m fine, just tired and sore. What’s up?”

Evan strokes his hair, then touches a knuckle to his cheekbone. “Nothing. Just, uh, my mom’s here, and she’d like to talk to you… alone. And meet the baby.”

“Oh. That’s fine, I guess.”

“And Zayn’s gonna be here in like a half hour, he’s bringing April. I just talked to him.”

“What about everyone else?” Amir says, glancing around. He’s aware that Louis left sometime in the early morning, but he was asleep when that happened.

“Zayn said Mims and everyone else is at their Beverly Hills spot, and Mims said Louis is sleeping in, I think he’s jet-lagged.”

Amir nods. “Can I have my baby?”

“ _Our_ baby? Yeah.” Evan goes over to the bassinet where Iskandar is sleeping and picks him up, resting him easily on one forearm with the other cradled underneath it.

He hands him to Amir, who coos at him and cuddles him close. Iskandar lets out an adorable baby yawn.

“He’s so little,” Amir murmurs. “I forgot how little they are...”

Evan beams at him with delirious happiness.

“Alright,” Amir says. “Send in your mom, I guess.”

“Thanks, babe. Thank you.” Evan leans over to kiss him on the head before heading back out.

Amir gazes down at the baby in his arms. “Your dad’s family is very difficult,” he murmurs, brushing the pad of his index finger lightly against Iskandar’s nose. “At least, I find them difficult. But I’m kind of difficult, myself.”

Iskandar mewls in response.

A knock comes at the door, and Amir calls, “Come in.”

Nicole opens the door, smiling. She’s dressed in peaches, beiges and whites — trying to look as anodyne as possible, Amir thinks.

“Hi,” Amir says to her.

“Hi,” Nicole says, hanging what is clearly a very expensive handbag on the door hook before coming over to him. “How are you?”

Amir shrugs. “Fine.”

“How’s the baby?” Nicole says, taking a seat in the armchair beside his bed.

“He’s good,” Amir says, then hesitates. “Do you want to hold him?”

Nicole nods.

Amir extends the little bundle of Iskandar to her. She takes him, taking him into her arms and studying his face. “Ohh,” she says, sounding touched. “What a precious little thing.”

Amir smiles.

“Both of your kids are precious,” she says, glancing up at Amir. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to spend more time with April.”

“Yeah, Evan’s sorry about that too,” Amir mutters. “But you’re loyal to his dad.”

“I’m married to him,” Nicole says.

“He’s said horrible things about me, and about your son,” Amir says. “You’re well aware of that.”

Nicole nods. “I don’t agree with him about any of those things,” she says. “I don’t support him in what he says or does. For the most part, we live separate lives.”

“But you’re _married_ to him.”

She gives him an indulgent, sympathetic smile, like he’s a little boy. “I’m a part of the Stewart family. I married in a long time ago. I’ll never really be out, even if I were to divorce my husband. It’s easier this way, being on the inside. You see how hard it is for Evan to remain on the outside.”

Amir stares at her, baffled. “But these are your only grandchildren, and you have to come visit them alone, in secret,” he says.

Nicole nods. “I know,” she says, stroking Iskandar’s head.

“Well, what the fuck? I mean, doesn’t Carter want to meet them? Isn't he all about lineage?”

“It’s easier for Carter to think of these children as not _really_ being his grandchildren,” she says.

Amir huffs out a stung laugh. “Nice. That’s great.”

“Well, he’s estranged from Evan,” she says. “And he feels you’re responsible for that.”

“I’m not!”

“I know that.”

“I’m not some fucked-up, pathetic drug addict whore, either!”

“I know that too.”

Something is different about Nicole. Amir studies her for a moment before realizing.

“You’re sober, aren’t you?” he says. “Right now?”

“Of course,” Nicole says, her forehead creasing. “I’m at a hospital visiting my grandchild, why would I not be sober?”

“Because you’re usually on pills, and you have been as long as I’ve known you,” Amir says. “No judgement, I’m a pillhead too. Pills are great.”

Nicole lets out a long exhale, studying Iskandar’s face as she does. Shafts of light are coming in from the hospital room windows, pouring over both of them like they’re in a painting, lighting up Nicole’s graying blonde hair. “I’ve been emerging lately from a very long depression,” she says after a moment. “That was one of the reasons I wanted to come see you and Evan.”

Amir waits in silence for her to continue.

“I’d like to have a relationship with you,” Nicole says. “I’d like to have a relationship with my son, and with my grandchildren… the only grandchildren I might have. If the two of you can’t patch things up with Rachel, that’s fine. I can come see you alone. But I’d like to come see you.”

“Why would our kids be the only grandchildren you have?” Amir says.

Nicole meets his eyes. “Rachel and Alex have had trouble getting pregnant,” she says. “They might not be able to.”

“Didn’t Rachel have an abortion, years back?”

Nicole sighs.

“What, she can go around talking about my abortion, but I can’t talk about hers?” Amir says, nettled.

“Please,” she says. “I like things to remain civil.”

“Fine.”

Iskandar starts fussing, and Nicole tries to soothe him for a moment before handing him back to Amir, who brings him to his shoulder to rock him. “I don’t know about Henry,” Nicole says. “He’s a very lost and angry young man. Really, Evan is the only one who…” She trails off, her voice losing strength. “He’s the only one I see myself in. He’s the one who it brings me joy to hear about. And I really like you, Amir. I always have.”

Amir’s eyes grow hot with tears. He dries them on Iskandar’s little hat. Iskandar’s whimpers peter out.

“I’d like to be in the lives of your children,” Nicole says.

“I want you to be too,” Amir says thickly, sniffling. “And I want you to be in Evan’s life. He misses you. You have to promise me, please, that this isn’t a ploy to lure him back in so his dad can try to get something out of him. I don’t think he could take that.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” She reaches out and lays her hand over Amir’s, which is resting on the baby’s back and has an IV cannula taped to it. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Amir says, fresh tears slicing hotly down his cheeks. “Sorry I’m crying, I’m hormonal.”

“It’s okay,” Nicole assures him.

*

Nicole leaves after a half and hour or so, and goes to talk to Evan in the waiting room. Amir just lies there with the baby on his chest, physically and emotionally exhausted, staring up at the ceiling.

Another knock comes, and then Zayn opens the door with April in his arms.

“Daddy!” April shouts in excitement, reaching out for him.

“Baby,” Amir says, relieved. “Oh, c’mere, love. Come meet your brother.”

April is wriggling so frantically in Zayn’s arms that he can hardly contain her as he walks over. He drops her onto Amir’s bed like a sack of potatoes, and she leaps at Amir to snuggle in his neck.

“She’s been off the shits all morning,” Zayn says. “Wouldn’t stop asking us where you were and crying after you, poor thing.”

“Oh, baby, I’m here,” Amir says, kissing her on the head. “It’s okay, I’m here. You wanna meet your brother?”

He signs each word of this before shifting Iskandar into his arms. The baby’s puffy newborn eyes open, flicking around the room. April stares at him, then reaches out and touches his nose.

“He’s little,” she says.

“Yeah, very little. You were even littler.”

April strokes Iskandar’s cheek. He makes a gurgling sound, and she giggles — a shrieky, hiccupy little toddler giggle that he loves to hear from her.

“I like him,” she says.

“Good,” Amir says, smiling at her.

“I hold him.”

“No, sweetie, you’re too little. You can sit in my lap while I hold him, though, if you promise not to jostle around.”

“Okay,” April agrees.

Zayn takes Iskandar for a moment while Amir gets April situated in his lap, wincing in pain every time he has to shift his pelvis. Then Zayn lowers the baby into Amir’s arms so that he’s resting atop April’s little legs. She strokes his head.

“She’s bein’ so sweet and gentle,” Zayn remarks, smiling. “Yasmeen was terrible when she met you the first time... Poked you, made you cry.”

Amir laughs.

“Oi, listen,” Zayn says in a soft voice, and Amir looks up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Amir’s eyes get hot again. “About what?” he says hoarsely.

“Everythin’, really. I reckon I’m still upset with you about you relapsing, and that sort of spills out in other ways.”

Amir stares at him, then nods. Zayn looks genuinely remorseful and sad.

“I just worry about you so much,” Zayn says. “You don’t know how much I love you, how special you are to all of us. It kills me to think I could lose you over summat as stupid as a handful of pills or blow. It gets me raging, it really does. And that anger comes out directed toward you, but it’s not really about you, I know that.”

“I’m sober,” Amir rasps. “I work so hard to stay sober.”

“I know. And I know you don’t want to put me, or Louis, or Yasmeen, or Evan, or these kids of yours through another relapse, right?”

Amir nods, choked up by tears, now. His throat feels hot and constricted. He kisses April on the head again, then buries his face in her hair.

“Daddy, don’t be sad,” April chirps.

Amir laughs and gives her another kiss.

“Anyway, Harry and I talked, and you’re welcome to stay longer,” Zayn says. “I dunno what Lou plans on doing, but if you’d like to be here a while longer before you go back upstate… we’d like to have you.”

Amir nods. “Okay.”

“Just please don’t ever hide something like that from me again,” Zayn says. “The Toni thing, I mean. I don’t think you know how scary that was for us to have to hear about after the fact.”

“I get it. I told you guys I was sorry, and I meant it. I knew I’d regret it, it was a stupid mistake, I was just trying to stay loyal to my sister. I should’ve come to you guys about the situation as soon as she told me she sent away for the ancestry test.” Amir inhales, suddenly exhausted from an emotional head rush. “Okay?”

Zayn nods, then comes over to him and strokes his hair. He kisses Amir on the head the same way Amir just kissed April. “I love you, _beta_.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“How are you feeling, this morning?” Zayn says. “You in any pain?”

Amir nods.

“Poor love. Anythin’ I can do?”

“Yeah, actually, you could go get me my usual Starbucks order.” Zayn laughs at this, and Amir fixes him with a look. “I’m dead serious. There’s a Starbucks downstairs in the lobby.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, putting his hands up. “You got it. What’s your order?”

“Venti iced matcha latte with whipped cream on top. And a croissant.”

“You allowed to have caffeine?”

“I don’t remember, but I don’t give a fuck.”

Zayn laughs again, and tousles his hair. “Alright. You alright alone with these two?”

“Uh, actually, can you send Evan back in?” Amir says.“Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem,” Zayn calls over his shoulder on his way out.

When the door shuts behind him, Amir cradles his babies more snugly, sniffling again. “I love you, April,” he says, tapping her three times on the wrist, because she’s facing away from him and wouldn’t be able to see him signing.

“I luvoo,” she says back.

In their arms, Iskandar makes a soft contented noise, and Amir smiles down at him. His heart is full.

*

Zayn doesn’t go home when he leaves the hospital; he drives out to Beverly Hills, to Liam and Louis’ little _pied-à-terre._

Aya is the one who answers the door. She smiles when she sees him, and steps out into the morning sunshine, which bathes her in a soft glow. “Hi. Looking for someone?”

“My ex-husband,” Zayn says. “If he’s up.”

She nods. “I think he just woke up a few minutes ago. I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

“Thanks, love.”

Aya nods and beckons him into the foyer, then heads upstairs. From the living room, he hears Mia call, “Dad?”

He calls back, “Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just want to talk to Lou.”

Mia’s quiet, and a moment later, she appears around the corner of the archway. She looks him up and down, then says, “You want some coffee or something?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Zayn says. He got himself a coffee when he was picking up Amir’s Starbucks order. “Cheers.”

“Alright,” she says.

“Where are the boys?” he says, glancing around like they might pop out from behind a corner.

“Out cold upstairs,” Mia says. “Everyone’s hungover and jet-lagged… I’m only up ‘cos the loud-ass birds woke me. How’s Amir?”

“Did he mention I stopped by?”

She nods. “We’ve been texting.”

“He’s fine,” Zayn says. “Baby’s fine.”

“Is he gonna stay with you guys for a while?”

“I dunno. I offered.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Zayn says shortly.

“Just asking, ‘cos you guys told him —”

“I know what we told him,” he says, cutting his eyes at her. “We were upset. We _are_ upset. Harry’s been having a hard time lately, I’ve been protective of him. I’m protective of Toni.”

“I just think maybe Amir might have taken it as you being more loyal to your family with Harry than you are to us,” Mia says, leaning in the archway, leveling her cool blue stare right back at him. “Because that’s how he still thinks about things, deep down.”

“I know it’s how he thinks about it, but it’s not accurate. Toni’s still a kid, and he’s a grown, married man with two children of his own. I’ve got a duty to her that I haven’t got to him.”

“I do get it, Dad.”

“And I apologized to him, anyway,” Zayn adds. “So you don’t need to ride my arse. You know how much I love that kid. There’s just things I can’t let slide.”

Mia nods. “I know you’re protective of him, too,” she says.

“Of course I am.”

“And I know it upsets you that he won’t let you protect him.”

“No, it’s that I _can’t_ protect him,” Zayn says, an ache rising from his chest into his throat. “How do you protect someone from themselves?”

Mia shrugs and shakes her head.

They hear footsteps on the stairs and look up to see Aya and Louis coming down. Louis looks rumpled and puffy-eyed, like he just woke up a moment ago.

“Hey,” he says to Zayn hoarsely. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I just wanted to talk to you,” Zayn says. “Can we go sit on the porch?”

Louis yawns and rubs his eyes as he descends the final few steps. Aya returns to Mia’s side, leaning up against her and resting her chin on Mia’s shoulder; the two of them peer at Zayn and Louis like curious meerkats.

“Sure,” Louis says, gesturing grandly at him. Zayn turns and opens the front door, then steps back out into the gorgeous California morning. It’s already hot as shit, but there’s a cool breeze and no humidity. Birds are chirping raucously, like Mia said, and they can hear children playing down the street.

They take a seat on the porch swing together, and Zayn groans from the pressure the wooden seat puts on his hip joints, which are aching from all the time he spent on the hard waiting room couch yesterday.

“We’ve got two grandbabies,” he says, glancing over at Louis.

“I know,” Louis says, smiling. “We’re fuckin’ elderly.”

“Not even, though. Barely fifty.”

“Several years into our fifties, actually, but whatever makes you feel better.”

Zayn makes eye contact with Louis, then smiles cheerfully at him.

In response, Louis heaves a gusty sigh and lays his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “What d’you want, charming bastard?”

“Nothing! I seriously just wanted to see you.”

“You declined my call the other night,” Louis says reproachfully.

“Whatever. I was tired and narked off from yelling at Amir. And I knew you’d give me some holier-than-thou speech that’d make me feel like a dickhead and a loser, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Well, thanks for your transparency,” Louis says, making Zayn laugh. “So, where does Harry think you are right now?”

“Harry knows where I am.”

“Does he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Louis shrugs. “Just seems like you’re a bit astride two worlds right now,” he says.

“I always am,” Zayn says.

They’re quiet for a while, then, swinging back and forth a little. The swing creaks as it moves.

“I dunno why it’s such a struggle with Amir,” Zayn says. “Ever since he was little… I’m either agonizing about how I’ve let him down, or ragin’ over how he’s let me down. It’s always this back and forth, this bitterness, this power struggle. It isn’t like that with Yasmeen, at least not as much.”

“Fathers and sons,” Louis says. “It’s complicated shit.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that, I know it is.”

“Well, Mia was more okay about us splitting up than Amir was,” Louis says. He exhales, then lifts his head off of Zayn’s shoulder. “He’s just sensitive. That cut him deep.”

“What were we supposed to do? Stay together unhappily? I didn’t even _want_ to split up. It was your idea, I wanted to make things work.”

“Yeah, I’ve often wondered when Amir swapped from blaming me for our divorce to blaming you,” Louis says. “I always assumed he must have at some point… when he was a teenager, he blamed me, and we weren’t close. He still very much idolized you.”

Zayn stares down at his hands, his pulse picking up. Something about Louis’ tone is probing in a worrying way. He’s afraid of the question which he knows, in his bones, that Louis is about to ask.

And then it comes, in Louis’ softest voice: “You didn’t ever, erm... you haven’t told them that you cheated on me, have you?”

Hot tears prickle at the corners of Zayn’s eyes. His breath leaves his chest, and his vision tunnels. He doesn’t want to respond, but he knows he has to.

“I didn’t tell them, but they do know,” he finally says.

Louis exhales heavily. “Oh, God.” He sounds gutted. “For how long?”

“Years now,” Zayn says. The words start to tumble out of him, then: “I dunno when Yas found out. Amir found out when he was seventeen, right before he, y’know… spiralled out.”

“Fuck,” Louis says, looking stricken. “Is _that_ why he was so upset, around then?”

“Part of it, I think,” Zayn says with difficulty.

“Oh, my poor little lad…”

“I asked them both to never tell you that they knew. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I appreciate that,” Louis says, and he sounds like he means it. “That really does explain a lot of things. D’you know who told them?”

“One of your friends told Yasmeen, and she told Amir.”

“Christ… Which friend?”

“I barely remember, at this point,” Zayn says. “Bloke named Derrick, I think? From Adidas?”

Louis bends over his knees with his face in his hands, stopping the swing with his feet. “God, so not even an actual friend, just some work buddy? _Christ_!”

“I’m sorry, Lou. I never wanted them to find out, either.”

“I always figured they would eventually,” Louis murmurs. “All these years, I just hoped our luck had held out, or that they’d only heard rumors, nothing concrete. I noticed you were evasive about how things ended between us, in your memoir.”

“I didn’t tell the ghostwriter the gory details,” Zayn says. “I only said to her that I’d let you down in a lot of ways.”

“Right.”

They’re quiet for a while, again. Louis runs his hand through his hair and stares out at the street below them, seeming lost in thought. He’s teary-eyed, too.

“Things were never the same between me and Amir after that,” Zayn chokes out, wanting to keep vomiting words, hoping that the aching weight in his chest will lessen some if he does. “He’s very protective of you, y’know. He might idolize me, but he adores you. I reckon that him finding out sort of, ah…” His voice wobbles. “Sorta torched my relationship with my only son.”

“Oh, Zayn, no,” Louis says, turning to him and wiping his eyes. “No, not at all. It isn’t an either or scenario, like he’s got to pick between us. He loves you so much… I think it was just hard for him to realize that you’re only human.”

“But if I’m only human, if I’ve made so many mistakes, where do I get off telling him not to make his own mistakes?” Zayn closes his eyes, and hot tears leak down his face. “I’ve got no power. I’ve got no leg to stand on. All I can do is watch helplessly while he does whatever he’s gonna do.”

“That’s not true,” Louis says. A fingertip brushes Zayn’s cheek; Louis is wiping his tears away. “And to what extent it is true, that’s just what parenting is. Our hearts live outside our bodies. All we can do is cherish our kids, and give them a place to always call home.”

Zayn shakes with repressed sobs. “I can’t stand it sometimes,” he admits, and then he breaks down, starting to weep.

Louis pulls him into a hug, stroking his hair. Zayn cries into his shoulder for a while, until he feels relieved, purged of toxins.

“You alright?” Louis murmurs.

“Yeah,” Zayn says shakily, sniffing.

“I appreciate the three of you workin’ to keep that a secret from me for years and years, just to spare my feelings,” Louis says, patting Zayn on the back before letting him go. “I mean, don’t do that ever again, about anything, please — but it was sweet that you did.”

“We all love you, Lou,” Zayn says.

Louis smiles. “I know. I love you too.” His lower lip twitches, and then he says with boyish anxiety, “How did Mims take it, when she found out? Do you know?”

“Not as hard as Amir did, I think,” Zayn says. “She’s always been your girl, anyway... you know that.”

“She’s _our_ girl,” Louis says, but he’s smiling.

“Our girl is getting married,” Zayn says. “Can you believe it?”

“I really can’t.”

“I’m glad it’s to Aya, though. I like her quite a bit.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees. “Mia got lucky, there. She hasn’t got the best picker, usually.”

Zayn laughs as he fishes in his pocket for a tissue. “Will you lot come over, tonight?” he says. “I’m assuming Amir and Evan are still plannin’ to bring the baby back to ours… Harry moved one of our old cribs out to the guesthouse ages ago. We can all hang out, watch Olympics shit on telly.”

“Sure,” Louis says. “That sounds nice.”

“D’you plan to stay for a while, then? A week or two, at least?”

Louis nods. “Amir and his kids are my big concern,” he says. “I go where they go, for the time being. The boys have to go back to uni in a few days, and I think Aya and Mia are thinking they’ll fly out to DC to announce their engagement to Aya’s mums… but I’m a free agent. Just waiting for Sunday and Payno to come home.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes, fuck’s sake. Why are you worried about this?”

“Just ‘cos it would be nice if you could have a chat with Harry, and hang out with him a bit,” Zayn says.

Louis huffs out a laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah! He’s been going through a hard time lately, and he’d never admit it, but he really likes to get advice and reassurance from you.”

“Tell him to join the club,” Louis says. “Aye, that’s fine, we can talk. I have to have a talk to him anyway, about Amir’s career. We took a step back when he got pregnant, but I’d like him back in the studio by early next year.”

Zayn makes a whip-cracking sound, and Louis laughs. “Well, someone in the family’s gotta keep us in Grammys, and it’s not gonna be you or me.”

“Ouch.” Zayn says. “Y’know, I do _have_ a Grammy, actually.”

“Oh,” Louis says apologetically, “I’ve forgotten your Grammy you won for reading a book you didn’t actually write. Pardon me.”

Zayn reaches over to twist one of his nipples, but Louis is too quick for him. He slaps his hand down, then sticks his tongue out at him.

*

Amir and Evan get home from the hospital around 1 p.m., and Amir promptly goes to sleep in an easy chair in Zayn and Harry’s sitting room while his family bustles around him, tending to April and the baby while doing their best not to wake him. Finally, at 5, Louis shakes him awake and says apologetically, “Love, we’d like to watch Olympics coverage in here… your dad can’t figure out how to get the proper channel down in their home theater. D’you mind?”

“No, I’m awake,” Amir mutters blearily, rubbing his eyes and blinking. “Where’s Evan and the baby?”

“Right here,” Evan’s voice says from behind him. Amir turns and sees Evan leaning against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooks the sun setting over the ocean, Iskandar cradled in his arms. He smiles at Amir.

“Oh, hey,” Amir says, smiling back.

Mia walks into the sitting room then, April in her arms and Aya behind her. She dumps April in Amir’s lap and turns to Louis. “Everyone else is coming, they’re just making popcorn.”

“Why popcorn?” Amir says, stroking April’s hair while she snuggles up against his chest. “Sunday didn’t even ride today, there’s nothing to see.”

“Liam told Dad to watch for an embarrassing surprise,” Mia says, her eyes twinkling.

Amir glances at Louis, who’s gone over to Evan to fuss at the baby. He looks up from Iskandar and says, “Well, it can’t be anythin’ too cringeworthy, otherwise I’d have heard about it already, wouldn’t I have? But he won’t tell me what it was, and he said not to look on social media so it stays a surprise.”

“Maybe he started stripping when they cut to him in the stands,” Mia suggests, and Aya laughs.

The twins appear around the corner of the bookcases that line the sitting room as Mia says this, and Max makes a face in response.

“Please don’t degrade our father,” Patrick says. He and Max pile onto the loveseat next to Amir’s chair, and he adds, “You finally awake, Grandpa?”

“I’m awake,” Amir says, annoyed. “I’m allowed to be tired. Having a baby is exhausting.”

“Yeah, thank God I wasn’t programmed with that functionality,” Patrick says. “Either that or the testosterone madness of alphas. I love being normal.”

“I don’t have _testosterone madness_ ,” Max mutters as he uses his watch to turn the TV on and start flicking through the channels.

Mia and Aya have gone over to coo over the baby, too; watching them, Amir feels left out. “Can you bring him over here?” he says to Evan, who nods and comes over to Amir with Iskandar in his arms. Amir presses a kiss to Iskandar’s forehead, making him burble.

“Say hi to your brother,” he instructs April, who lifts her head and says, “Hi brubber.”

Zayn, Harry and the girls enter, then, with Zayn carrying a giant bowl of popcorn.

“Alright,” Harry says, clapping his hands together. “Are we ready to watch Liam embarrass Louis on national television?”

This is met with cheers from Patrick, Mia, and Zayn, while everyone else laughs. Toni and Marlena come over to Evan to say hi to the baby and coo over him, then pile on the couch with their parents.

Max finally finds the right channel and turns the volume up. A British announcer is droning on about horse-related things, over wide shots of a show jumping ring and the audience in the stands behind it. The camera pans in close to the audience, revealing Liam in the front row; he catches the camera out of the corner of his eye and winks at it.

“Oh, God,” Louis groans, coming over to the loveseat to squeeze in beside the twins while Mia and Aya settle in on the massive couch. “What are you planning, dickhead?”

“I can’t wait,” Mia says, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Zayn’s lap. “This is way better than any actual Olympic event.”

Evan continues standing beside Amir’s chair, shifting his weight from foot to foot, lightly rocking the baby. Minutes go by while everyone stares at the TV, waiting for anything to happen besides an Australian guy talking about how the windy weather in Paris might affect the results of today’s show jumping rounds.

“Is this it?” Mia says. “They just cut to him again.”

Amir glances up at the TV; Liam is on-screen, and the commentator is droning on about who he is, who Sunday is, and how she triumphed on the cross-country course. Liam looks directly into the camera again, and then unzips his bomber jacket and pulls it open to reveal a white t-shirt that says I LOVE YOU LOUIS in blocky black lettering.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Louis says in agony, while everyone cracks up.

“I think that’s sweet,” Aya says, grinning.

“It is sweet,” Louis says. “It’s incredibly sweet. I’m going to kill him, of course, but it’s very sweet.”

Between laughs, Zayn chokes out, “When and where did he even get that made?”

“I have no idea!” Louis exclaims. “I’ve never seen it!”

Amir grins and lays his head back against the chair, continuing to pet April’s hair perfectly content to watch everyone around him argue good-naturedly and crack jokes with each other. From across the room, Mia catches his eye and smiles at him, then mouths, _You okay?_

Amir nods and mouths _Yes_ back. At this moment, he is perfectly okay.


End file.
